


A Night for Remembering

by Kethma



Series: Heroes' Blood [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls I: Arena, Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7429177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kethma/pseuds/Kethma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts out as an ordinary shopping trip goes quickly awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dress for Success

The city of Camlorn was a wonderful sight to Khalila al-Sharron. It would have been well enough on any day, so glad she was to return to civilization, but today, the 25th of First Seed, the people of High Rock celebrated Flower Day, and Camlorn put on its famous Flower Festival. The entire city was swimming in fragrant blossoms. Garlands of them hung from the lampposts, tubs of them lined the streets, boxes of them hung from windows, and nearly every man, woman and child wore them. The scent in the warm spring afternoon was intoxicating.

She brushed her thick black curls out of her face and glanced shyly at the man walking beside her. Talin was observing the festival with his habitual impassive expression, but his warm brown eyes gleamed with appreciation. Apparently he felt Khalila’s gaze, the light in his eyes growing tender as his attention turned to her.

“It’s almost like this was to celebrate your success,” he joked.

He was tall and powerfully built, his face made handsome by high cheekbones and a strong jawline. The person behind the looks was even more impressive and Khalila shivered with joy that she held his heart. When she replied, she had to strive for a light tone.

“I didn’t do anything worthy of a festival. If they only knew who _you_ were, however…”

“Yes, well, I’m not looking for parades, either,” he replied hastily.

“Oh, both of you stop it!” Ro snorted cheerfully from her place just behind them, leading the cart horse. “We _all_ did deeds of valor, and nobody’s going to know anything about them, but that shouldn’t stop us from having our own celebration!”

By her looks it was easy to tell she was Talin’s sister. Like him, her Yokudan heritage showed strongly in her height and muscular build. She ran a hand through her shaggy hair, the legacy of some serious magical healing. “I want a haircut and a bath before we do, though!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to grow it out and braid it like Talin?” Khalila said, giving her friend a teasing smile. “It’s very attractive!”

“Thanks, no,” Ro said. “It may be pretty, but it also happens to be a pain in the neck to take care of. I’ll keep mine short and simple, if you please.”

“I’ve a cantrip or two that helps.” Talin smiled with undisguised fondness at his younger sibling. “So, what’s the plan? Find an inn, bathe and go out to see the sights?”

Khalila shook her head emphatically.

“Even before I can think of a bath, I need to find the marketplace and buy some supplies, most especially clothing. I’m down to almost nothing, and those are hardly better than rags.”

“We need provisions in general,” Ro said. “But finding an inn during the holiday could take a while, too. Talin, why don’t you go and try the _White Horse_ first? It’s right at the center of town. If they don’t have rooms, it’ll be a good place to leave word as to wherever you do end up. Khalila and I will do the shopping and meet you later.”

“Fine by me.” Talin handed over the pouch containing the expense money, then turned and took Khalila’s hand, kissing it gallantly. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

She smiled and squeezed his fingers as they parted ways, but she felt a measure of frustration that things were still so formal between them. _Partly my fault, of course_ , she thought as she fell in at Ro’s side. _I’ve been deliberately keeping things restrained this last week. But that ends tonight, for good—or for ill._

“We’re fortunate to be here today,” Ro said. “I don’t know how much you traveled High Rock in your adventuring career, but the Flower Festival does great things for the marketplaces. Everyone brings the best they have, and there are usually more sellers, many with special items you can’t normally get except in the really big port towns. We Nubos have sometimes brought our finest weapons to sell here in years past.”

“And how much will we have to pay for these follies?” Khalila grinned knowingly. “They won’t come cheap if they’re from so far away.”

“Oh, yes, they’re a bit pricey,” Ro said, waving an airy hand. “But the local goods will be at very competitive rates, so that’ll make up for it!”

“I trust so. Because I find that I’m very much in the mood to indulge myself a little.”

“Why stop at a little?” Ro said, with a rich chuckle.

They made a quick stop at the bank to trade their coin for the local currency, and then they plunged into a marketplace bursting with stalls and carts. It wasn’t long before they were bedecked with flowers and weighed down with frivolous purchases like exotic perfumes, luscious baked goods, and the latest works of fiction. They split up for a little while when Ro spotted a barber, Khalila entering a nearby apothecary shop to replenish their _Healing_ and _Magicka_ potions. She also bought some fine soap in her favorite sandalwood scent and a supply of the powders it behooved a female to take daily if she wished to remain childless. She hadn’t needed those for quite some time, but now it would be prudent to make it a habit once more.

When she rejoined Ro, they decided to shop the clothing vendors without further delay, and they spent the next half hour up to their elbows in twill, leather and silk. Khalila found several outfits to her liking, and was trying to run down a tunic in the particular shade of cinnamon of a pair of fine leggings she’d acquired, when she saw it: a cart hung liberally with beautiful silk gowns, dyed in spectacular colors and threaded with embroidery and beads in intricate designs. She drifted to it, hardly noticing that the merchant in charge was an Altmer.

“Greetings, milady,” he said, layering his voice with honey. “Do you see something to your liking?”

She nodded, eyes fixed on one garment in particular. “ _That_.”

It was a long gown of deep crimson; the bodice was tailored to fit sleekly, patterned with delicate gold threads, the skirt showing various shades of red as the layers flowed lightly in the breeze. It was as beautiful and costly as sin.

 “Ah, yes, milady has impeccable taste,” the Elf murmured. “That is indeed the jewel of my collection. The fabric was woven by the Queen’s own virgin handmaidens from the finest grade of silk made only by the caterpillar of the star moth, which is found nowhere but in the Summerset Isles.”

“And the gold threads are from the tresses of the Queen’s own head, too, no doubt,” Ro interjected, joining Khalila with crossed arms. “Is there something in there about unicorns, too?”

The merchant frowned at the interruption of his spiel. Khalila laughed, but privately she thought his description wasn’t all that farfetched, given the artistry of the dress.

“So, just how pricey is it?” she asked him.

“For one who appreciates it as you do, a mere five hundred gold.”

She kept from wincing, but only just. Even if she scraped together every last coin she had, it wouldn’t equal that price. But she knew that was hardly the final tally; tough bargaining would drive it down to something she _could_ afford, but it would still be quite a splurge. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but think of Talin’s reaction if he saw her wearing that lovely piece…

Khalila turned to draw her friend aside a couple of steps.

“Ro, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Lend you some money? Dearest, I’d love to, but I don’t have anything like that much to give you!”

“No, no, I think I can get him down to something I can manage. What I wanted to ask is… well, if you could possibly—” Khalila felt her face flush but she pushed on determinedly, “oh, find somewhere else to be for the evening.”

“What, and abandon my poor brother to your wiles?” Ro’s eyes danced wickedly.

“No, not _wiles_ —I just, I mean—” Khalila realized she was on the brink of babbling like an idiot and stopped to take a deep breath, regaining her composure. “I would really appreciate it if you’d do that.”

“You’re head over heels in love with the man who saved your life,” Ro said, her smile turning sympathetic, “and his sister’s been around every moment of every day since you met him. Sweetie, of _course_ you want time alone with him. You can count on me to help you any way I can.”

“Thank you!” Khalila gasped, and she dropped her various packages to throw her arms around Ro who returned the hug heartily, dropping all her own things in the process. But then Ro, looking over Khalila’s shoulder towards the cart, stiffened.

“Uh-oh.”

Khalila whirled around to see a local Breton noblewoman counting coins to give to the Elven merchant, who had the crimson gown draped over his arm.

“Wait, no!” she cried, spring forward. “ _I_ was negotiating for that dress!”

“My dear girl, you stepped away without making me an offer,” the merchant said smoothly. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

The noblewoman looked Khalila up and down, her lip curling, and the swordswoman became acutely aware of her travel-worn and grubby appearance. It contrasted dramatically with the brocaded, beribboned and beautified Breton.

“I was assessing my resources,” she said quietly, drawing her dignity around her. “I am ready to make an offer now.”

“We already settled on a price, Lihirren,” the noble said sharply. “Don’t you _dare_ allow this piece of—of road trash to interfere in a finished deal.”

“Now, Lady Bithina, you haven’t handed me one copper as of yet.” The Elf’s eyes gleamed with avarice at the chance to gouge more money out of one of them. “I’m more than willing to hear the young lady’s offer.”

Khalila glanced at the woman’s small purse and decided that it couldn’t hold more than two hundred in gold at most, so she ventured on a higher bid.

“Two hundred fifty gold.”

Judging by Bithina’s squawk and the merchant’s calculating expression, she had successfully raised the stakes.

“Two hundred and fifty, you say milady? A good first offer, though still far short of my asking price. Would you care to make a counter offer, your ladyship?”

“This is outrageous! I am not going to stand here and participate in an auction over this gown! It’s _mine_!”

“Oh, not yet it isn’t, your ladyship,” said the merchant, and he turned and laid the gown on his cart.

“All _right_ , three hundred!”

“She doesn’t have that much,” Khalila said firmly. “There’s no way her purse can hold that.”

“I can _send_ for it!”

“Or I can give you three hundred and fifty,” she said, meeting the Elf’s gaze steadily, “right now in your hand.”

She was taking a risk, for that was all the money she could possibly spend and if the spoiled noblewoman convinced the merchant to wait for the promise of more, then she was done. Lady Bithina crossed her arms and turned her back on the whole scene angrily. The Altmer looked between them thoughtfully, stroking his very pointed chin as he deliberated.

“Look out!” Ro lunged forward, and Khalila caught out of the corner of her eye a flash of crimson disappearing down the nearest alleyway, clutched under the arm of a thin, ragged boy. Bithina spun around belatedly, and saw her prize missing.

“My _dress_!” shrieked Bithina.

“ _My_ dress!” Khalila snapped, and took off running at Ro’s heels.

 

Talin was beginning to get annoyed and tired. Oh, not bone-weary exhaustion, not by any means, but it was that sort of nuisance-level fatigue that only the dogged pursuit of an increasingly elusive goal could give one. He had trudged through the streets for the past two hours, forcing the cranky horse and the gods-reviled cart through eddies and swirls of Humanity (and others) trying to find one single hostel in Camlorn that wasn’t bespoken to the rafters.

The _White Horse_ was as full as it could hold. They suggested the _Broken Branch_ , but the _Branch’s_ only empty rooms were held for a party from Daggerfall that had yet to arrive, and they refused to give up even one. The tapster thought of the _Barley Sheaf_ , and Talin tracked clear across town only to find they’d even pitched some tents out in their carriage yard for their overflow. It was about then that he began banging his head on the side of the cart.

“Sir’s gonter spook his horse, he keeps doin’ that.”

Talin looked sideways to find one of the stableboys giving him a gap-toothed grin.

“Unless you have some good news for me, lad, let me go back to my occupation. It’s very soothing.”

“I know a place where sir might be snug,” the urchin said unexpectedly. “The _Crossed Keys_ is in a part o’ town that’s seen hard times of late, so the gentles don’t like to go there, but it’s a fine old inn. They’ll likely have digs for you, acos Sister—she works there, know you, acos her man’s the innkeeper’s youngest—Sister just bin carping about empty rooms even with all them trippers in town.”

Talin raised his head, caught between hope and caution. On the one hand, any possibility of shelter sounded pretty good by now. However, it sounded awfully like the _Crossed Keys_ might turn out to be little better than a hole in the wall. He would sooner camp outside of town than go slumming. Still, the child had said a _fine_ old inn. He decided it merited investigation, at the least.

“My boy, if they have rooms to my liking, then the blessings of Zenithar on you!” he said with renewed energy. He held out two coppers between thumb and forefinger. “Give me directions. If I find rooms there, I’ll see to it your sister and you both get a gold!”

“Aye, then, sir!” the boy squeaked, swiping the money away. “Go you down the main street until you strike Lamplighters’ Way and follow it to Winding Lane, at the which will you go left—”

“On second thought, can you just mark it on my map?” Talin broke in, fishing out the broadsheet he’d collected at the town gate.

“Aye, sir, right enough. When you arrives, just ask for Mindel—that’s Sister—and tell her Kip sent you!”

Armed with the direction of the _Crossed Keys_ and a small amount of hope, Talin set off into the streets once more. The horse was not nearly so optimistic.

 

The young thief, quick and agile, set a crazed course through the city streets, but the women were both experienced adventurers. They kept up, dodging between—or sometimes _over_ —startled or incensed revelers and closed the gap relentlessly. They finally brought him to bay in a dead end that led only to the Merrie Maidens Laundry. He tried to climb over the fence to the back premises, but Ro’s expertly flung dagger thunked into the wood inches from his nose and he dropped to the ground, splayed back against the wall.

 They got their first good look at him—a Breton indeed, young but not a child, with a small, wiry build and dusty brown hair. His face was white and pinched, so Khalila approached slowly, hands held out away from her weapons.

“Easy there, boy. We don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even care to turn you over to the guard. Just give me the stolen dress, and you can go.”

He ran a hand through his locks, disordering them even further, and licked his lips, glancing from side to side. Apparently, nothing he saw gave him any hope, for he slumped slightly.

“I-I never—” he began, but just then the main door of the washhouse banged open to reveal a stout, red–faced man with rolled-up sleeves and an apron.

“Wot’s all this, then? Wot was that noise?” he demanded.

Seizing opportunity, the thief dove unceremoniously through the doorway, knocking the large man rolling across the floor. The crimson gown fluttered behind him like a matador’s cape.

“Bloody, rotting Oblivion!” Khalila swore, and plunged in after him.

“Such language!” Ro followed gamely, laughing.

Inside was a steam-filled, barn-like room holding numerous huge stone basins and stacked about with many baskets stuffed with linens and clothes. Groups of people worked around the edge of each basin, rubbing, beating and twisting the laundry. Despite the name of the establishment, a good number of the workers were men, and nearly half the total was Argonian lizard folk.

The thief hesitated, casting about for an escape route, and Khalila lunged at him. He dodged away, leaping onto the lip of the nearest basin, where he commenced a rapid beam-walking act around it, the dress dipping dangerously toward the water.

“You think that’ll stop me?” Khalila cried, and jumped up on the rim to follow in his footsteps.

“Agh!” the thief choked, going even faster. “Leave me alone, woman; you’re crazy!”

Ro dove amongst the crowded launderers, who were all beginning to realize something was going on. They dropped their work and clustered together, sending up a clamor. The chief launderer climbed ponderously to his feet, angrily shaking off those trying to help him.

“Scoundrels! Miscreants!” he roared. “Somebody _stop_ them!”

Men screamed, women cursed, some washers pushing in to try to grab the intruders, whole others did their utmost to get out of the fracas. Ro slapped aside grabbing hands and plowed through the thickening crowd. Changing tactics, the thief began hopping from basin to basin, snatching up bars of soap, washing beetles and even wet clothing to fling them at Khalila. An extra-large set of soggy trousers hit her full in the face, the legs wrapping around her neck like a bolas. She lost her balance and teetered over, disappearing amongst the throng.

She fought free of the impediments just in time to see Ro take a running jump and land on an abandoned cart, sending it careening in the general direction of the shoplifter. People jumped out of her way in haste, but her ride was short-lived as the cart veered erratically into one of the tubs. Ro continued on without it, making a grab for the thief as she passed him in the air, but he jumped down at the last minute and her hand closed on emptiness. She hit the ground rolling and collided with a huddle of Argonians, sending them flying like bowling pins.

The thief veered down another avenue and Khalila leaped to push over a towering stack of baskets, blocking his escape. He skidded to a halt and whirled as she advanced on him, drawing her sword.

“I’m not going to kill you, but I _will_ beat you black and blue if you don’t surrender _right now_!”

She was vaguely aware that she was over-reacting, but pure adrenaline was driving her and she stalked him purposefully. Ro cut around between their quarry and the back door, while the chief laundryman thundered up from another direction. The thief quailed back.

“You Redguards are maniacs! _Crackbrained_!” he shrieked. “I don’t care what I’m being paid; have it!”

He flung the dress wildly through the air. In a kind of slow motion, Khalila watched it head for ruin in the steaming hot water of the nearest basin.

“ _Nooooo_!” she cried and took two running steps, planted a foot on the furious foreman and launched herself into the air. She cut between the dress and the waiting water, slapping it away to safety, and landed in the tub with a mighty splash.

Spluttering up out of the basin, Khalila saw Ro skid on her knees to intercept the dress before it hit the ground, while the thief vaulted over the sprawling laundryman and hightailed it out the back door.

There was a moment of complete silence, and then the assembled washer people broke into a good-natured cheer at the successful conclusion to the pursuit. Helpful hands hauled Khalila out of the water while others righted the laundryman for the second time. Then she stood dripping on the floor while he read her a furious lecture on the running of a respectable business and the disruption thereof. Sensing nothing would soothe his ruffled sensibilities more effectively, she let him talk himself out.

“…and going back all the way to my Granfer’s day, never did _nothing_ of the like ever happen in this ’ere establishment—no way, no how!” With this inarguable conclusion, he seemed to have run himself out of breath. He sat down abruptly on the edge of the nearest basin and began to fan his purple face weakly with one hand.

“I completely understand, honored sir, and this disturbance was entirely unforgiveable.” Wiping away the water trickling down her face, Khalila put as much sympathy and contrition into her voice as she could. “I repent our intrusion into your honest work, and beg you’ll allow me to make reparation. Might I pay you for any lost wages for the afternoon’s work? I should think ten gold would cover it?”

The laundryman jerked upright as though she’d stuck a pin in him, and the purple hue began to drain out of his face.

“Well, then, that’s more the like. That’s right handsome, that is! Spoken like true gentry!”

“Good. And, if I may, another ten gold so you and all your people can perhaps end work early and enjoy the festivities?”

There was a hearty roar of approval from the workers and the laundryman, finally bereft of speech, simply gave her a comically exaggerated bow. She promptly opened her pouch, poured water onto the floor, then counted out twenty gold pieces.

So, Khalila and Ro were seen off the premises with a great deal of cheer and goodwill, the latter still clutching the Aedra-be-blessed dress, the former squelching in her boots but head held high.

 

The _Crossed Keys_ turned out to be even better than Kip’s description had led Talin to suppose. He had been very pleasantly surprised by the well-maintained exterior, and nothing inside had caused him to revise that impression. Far from being in a slum, it turned out to be in a residential area abandoned by the well-to-do when the industries had begun to encroach, and was now inhabited by honest, working-class people. The taproom probably saw a lot of custom, but they would have little use for overnighting.

Mindel opened the door of the second room for his inspection, and he found it just as satisfactory as the first. It was unusually roomy for a by-the-night rental, boasting a double bed piled with fluffy blankets, a nice-sized fireplace laid ready to light, and a large window with a not-too-distant view of the eastern hills over the roofs of the packing district. Better yet, it looked and smelled clean. While not the height of luxury, both rooms were pleasant and comfortable enough to satisfy him.

“Yes, these will do very nicely.” He dipped a hand into his pouch and pulled out two gold coins. “For you and your brother, as promised. You’ll see he gets his?”

She dimpled and dipped a curtsey before relieving Talin of his money.

“Aye, sir. The little rascal rightly earned it, sending you our way.”

“Well, if our stay is as comfortable as I anticipate, I’ll be sure to let others know about the _Crossed Keys_.”

“Very gennlemanly of you, sir! Should you need anything, just step out onto the gallery and call for me or the boots—that’s my Stefe, that is—and someone will be with you directly.”

“I’ll be wanting a bath at once,” he said with particular emphasis.

“O’ course, sir. The bathhouse is right along the kitchen. There’s hot water and towels for all; use o’ a tub costs a copper and to buy a cake o’ soap costs two. Should be fairly quiet along this time. Cook’s helper will gie ye what you need.”

“My thanks, then.”

The brisk, plump young woman twinkled at him again, then shut the door, leaving him alone in the quiet room. Wearily, he hefted the packs off of his shoulder and dropped them on the floor, then sank down in the comfortable chair near the fireplace. He hoped a bath would restore his flagging energy, and decided to bespeak a pot of tea for afterwards for further refreshment.

What a nuisance it had been to run down someplace to stay. He trusted the girls were enjoying their nice, relaxing shopping trip!

 

Khalila and Ro paused at the outer edge of the marketplace. The swordswoman’s hair and clothes clung wetly to her, though she had at least stopped dripping, and every bit of leather she wore was probably ruined. The lady smith walked with a slight limp, the knees of her trousers shredded from the slide across the laundry’s floor and one sleeve ripped where she had hurriedly torn away from a clutching hand. They were both attracting some stares. For a wonder, aside from being a little bit dusty, the crimson dress seemed to have survived the afternoon’s adventures better than the ladies had.

Ro brushed the skirts out with a gentle hand, and then they made a beeline for the Altmer’s cart. It was a scene of a dramatic performance by Lady Bithina, who was loudly bewailing the theft of the dress to a pair of city guards, while Lihirren interjected corrections and elaborations. She was just at the point of describing the actual event.

“And thanks to that interfering _vagabond_ —”

“A traveler, officers, no doubt in town for the Festival.”

“—no one saw that dirty little sneak slip up to the cart and grab the dress. The next thing we know, he’s off down that alley with it, and it was _mine_!”

“In point of fact, I had not been paid for it and the garment is still mine, officers.”

“And where are these two Redguard women now?” asked the female guard patiently.

“They took off running, pretending to chase the thief, but I know it was all an act. They just wanted to try to save face. And if they did catch him, I’ll bet they kept my dress!”

“And just how much would you wager on that, my lady?” said Ro loudly as she walked up and ceremoniously handed the gown to Lihirren.

“You saved it! And it looks perfect!” he cried, a smile breaking out on his face. “I can hardly believe it!”

“I _don’t_ believe it!” Bithina shrilled.

The guards observed everything closely, gave a once-over to Ro and Khalila. The man raised an eyebrow at their appearance, and exchanged a glance with his partner.

“Looks like you had a rough time of it, ladies. Did you catch the thief?”

“No, he got away from us in the Merrie Maidens Laundry, I’m afraid.” Khalila spoke with quiet self-possession, a marked contrast with the noblewoman’s histrionics. “He gave up the dress to distract us long enough to make good his getaway.”

“Can you give us a description?”

Khalila shrugged.

“He didn’t hold still long enough to see well. I believe he was a Breton, height and build a little below average, brown hair.”

“He was not!” Bithina stamped a dainty foot. “He was short and scrawny and has dark _blond_ hair. And green eyes!”

Three things came together in Khalila’s mind at once. She took several steps toward Bithina.

“How would you know that?” she said. “You were facing the other direction when he took the gown, and didn’t turn around until he’d already gone. The only reason you could know which way he went is because Ro was after him already.”

“I-I caught a glimpse of him as I turned!”

“Indeed? And that allowed you to see the color of his eyes? The whole time we chased him, we never got close enough to do so. All I could tell was that they were light colored; I would have guessed blue.”

“Okay, so maybe they were blue.” Bithina licked her lips, then turned to the guards. “What difference does it make? You need to go look for him!”

“There is a local troublemaker known as Jimmy the Handyman,” said the guardswoman, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “He has blond hair and green eyes, and earned his sobriquet by being known for doing any sort of under-the-table errand for a noble who doesn’t want to get his—or _her_ —hands dirty.”

She turned a long, level look on Bithina, who flushed.

“J-just _what_ are you implying?”

“I remember something else!” Ro said, eyes wide. “Right before he threw the dress away, he said, ‘I don’t care what I’m being paid!’”

“Yes, he did,” Khalila agreed grimly.

“Oh, is that your game, my lady?” hissed Lihirren. “When the price gets too high for your liking, your paid thief gets you a different sort of discount?”

Bithina’s hands balled up into shaking fists.

“You can’t prove anything! You’re all just—just stupid _commoners_! And when I tell my friends about you, Lihirren, no one will come to your piddling little peddler’s cart!”

She turned sharply on her heel and stalked off across the market.

“Is she really going to just be able to walk away from this?” Khalila asked the guards.

“Unfortunately, probably yes,” said the male guard. “You’re likely right in all your guesses; the Aedra know she was a wild piece when she was a teen. But there’s no proof and she admitted to nothing.”

“In the event we can run down Jimmy and he actually splits on her, that would be enough,” the woman added. “But it’s frankly not too likely. He’ll go to ground for some time, and he’s too wily to ever give up a client. It would kill his business.”

“All the same, give us your names and where you’re staying, just so’s we can contact you if something comes up.”

“Khalila al-Sharron and Ro Nubo,” the swordswoman answered, then hesitated. “But as to where we’re staying…”

“A message at the _White Horse_ will find us,” Ro put in. “If we need to change inns, we’ll send word to the guard house.”

“Well enough. A good day to you, ladies.”

The two guards moved on, and without Lady Bithina’s dramatic self present, the group of onlookers quickly lost interest and drifted away. Lihirren turned to Khalila.

“Milady, I find myself in your debt. The loss of that gown would have been a heavy blow to my profits for this trip. I only exaggerated a little about its rarity.”

“Then let me buy it from you with honest coin, sir. I believe my last bid was three hundred and fifty?”

“It was. But I’ll sell it to you for your _first_ bid of two hundred fifty,” he replied, and held out the dress with a respectful bow.

“Ro, would you be kind enough to keep it for me once more? I’m still soaked.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and took it from the Elf. But she gave him a narrow look. “Still, two hundred and fifty gold doesn’t sound like a whole _lot_ of gratitude.”

“I really can’t afford a loss on the dress, ma’am,” said the Elf, turning to put Khalila’s gold away in his strongbox. When he turned back, there was a black velvet bag in his hand. “This, however, is my own and I think it will amply express my gratitude.”

He drew out something most nearly like a torc, but the workmanship put it far beyond any torc Khalila had ever seen. Flaring wings made from fine filaments of gold bore a ruby between them with such delicacy as it seemed to float. She gasped and stroked it with one reverent finger.

“It’s lovely—incredible!” she whispered. “I really can’t accept—”

“You can and you do,” Ro interrupted, plucking it from the Elf’s hands. “ _That_ is thanks indeed, sir, and she’s humbled by your gift.”

Khalila laughed. “Yes, my friend is right. Thank you.”

“Come back to my cart any time, Khalila al-Sharron, you and your practical friend, and I’ll see to it you get only the best prices!”

 

The sun was sinking into the west and Talin had just finished his bath when his sister and Khalila finally made it to the inn, confirming they’d got his message at the _White Horse_. The bare glimpse he got of them as they threw quick waves on their way upstairs was enough to put a different complexion on their shopping trip.

“What in the world happened to you two?”

“Sorry big brother,” Ro threw over her shoulder as she pushed Khalila up the staircase in front of her. “We’ve got much to do and little time to do it in if we’re to see any of the festival tonight!”

 With that, they were gone. Talin shrugged and made his own way upstairs to his room, where he spent the next hour drinking his pot of tea, and listening with bemusement to the various odd clatterings and muffled chatter from the next room.

When the noise finally quieted down, he judged he wouldn’t have much longer to wait and pulled on his best leggings and a formal, richly embroidered tunic in his favorite shade of turquoise. He took a quick look in the mirror to be sure his braids were smooth and hanging neatly, then cast one of those cantrips he’d mentioned to Ro and changed the color of the beads in his hair to match the tunic. A pair of nice shoes, and his grooming was complete.

He tucked his valuables inside his belt, slung his sword over his back, and strolled down the hall to the girls’ quarters. He rapped jauntily on the door, anticipating a pleasant evening.

Khalila was in there alone when it opened, and he had to look a second time to recognize her. Her simple hairstyle was very becoming, shoulder-length curls falling from a little knot over each ear. She had used cosmetics subtly but effectively to emphasize those great, dark eyes of hers and the red of her lips. And she was gowned in a magnificent silk dress, crimson shot with gold. She looked extremely feminine, beautiful and utterly desirable.

He stood, hand still raised in the act of knocking, and stared like an idiot. With an effort, he pulled himself together and managed a witty comment.

“Uh—”

Khalila’s smile spread over her face like a sunrise.

“I was hoping you’d say that!” she replied, and took his arm.

Just like that, the evening’s prospects grew much brighter.


	2. Stepping Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talin and Khalila's night on the town leads to a ghostly mystery.

Talin floated at Khalila’s side, unaware that his feet were carrying him down the stairs and out the door into the cool evening air. The sky was a brilliant orange as the sun laid itself to rest in the distant hills. The fiery spectacle seemed apropos, considering his arm burned with heightened awareness where Khalila’s small hand rested in the crook of his elbow. His heart pounded at her proximity and the possibilities inherent in her choice of dress for the evening.

Was she trying to entice him? If so, she’d certainly succeeded. But she’d been modest in her dealings with him ever since their declaration of mutual affection—had it really only been a week ago?—so he couldn’t be sure. He’d honored her wishes, behaving as gallantly as he knew how, but glancing down at her now, his strength of resolve was tested. The neckline of her bodice nicely outlined the rounded top of her breasts, and his mouth went dry. He jerked his gaze away, focusing instead on the profusion of floral displays around them. If nothing else, he had to set a good brotherly example for Ro.

He frowned, realizing for the first time that his little sister wasn’t with them.

“Where’s Ro?” He looked around in bemusement.

Khalila peered back over her shoulder toward the inn’s upper story, a slight line between her brows, then her eyes met his and she smiled warmly.

“Ro kindly agreed to find her own entertainment for the evening.” The smile deepened and she hugged his arm to her. “I wanted you all to myself tonight.”

Did that mean what he thought it meant? Talin’s feet suddenly felt like iron blocks at the ends of his legs. It was a miracle he could walk without tripping over them. He fought the urge to turn around and drag Khalila back to his room at the inn. It would hardly be the most romantic start to the evening, though he was sure he’d care far less about that than she would.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he searched desperately for some form of distraction that would both delight her and bring him back to ground level.

The call of a street crier answered his need with promptitude.

“Evening to ye, ladies and gentles! Welcome one and all to the fair city-state of Camlorn and our Flower Festival, famous all over the Iliac Bay! Pray you head for the Grand Square where Queen Talara will give the opening speech and set the Maidens’ Procession in motion, the opening event of the Festival!”

“Oh, would you care to go see that?” Khalila asked, eyes sparkling. “I understand it used to be called the March of Beauty and consisted of a thousand prostitutes parading through the city, but when the Queen regained her throne from her uncle, she changed it to honor the virtuous women of the city instead. I hear it’s already become an important way for young people to meet and eventually marry. It sounds lovely.”

Talin wasn’t entirely sure that a procession of beautiful young women was what he needed most at the moment, though he didn’t imagine any of them could compare with the dark-eyed woman at his side. Still, it was something to do besides dwelling on the evening’s possibilities, so he dipped his head in agreement.

“Whatever my lady wishes,” he said, turning his steps towards Camlorn’s town square.

It proved to be just such an event as Talin had supposed; from their “vantage point” the Queen was a small figure on a balcony of the castle, only visible enough to tell she was a fairly young woman with blond hair. She gave a brief speech about tradition and looking to the future, declared the festival officially underway and a burst of fireworks signaled the start of the maidens’ parade. They, of course, were a large group of adolescent or not much older girls in white, wreathed in flowers, and as they passed in a stream of chatter and giggles, not one of them stood out from the others.

A trifle dull, certainly, but the enchanted smile Khalila turned on him made it more than worth his while.

“That was very sweet,” she said. “I understand that from this point there are a great deal of street performances and music to enjoy in various parts of the city well into the night.”

At that, her voice trailed off and she glanced up at the sky, where the first stars were beginning to overcome the fading sunset. For that moment, her face lost all animation. Then she tossed her head and looked to Talin with another smile.

He knew what she was thinking. Tonight, Secunda would be full. She was still haunted by a trace of doubt that the curse was truly gone. Smiling, he squeezed her hand where it lay on his arm.

“It will be all right,” he assured her.

Her eyes widened and then she grimaced in dismay.

“I beg your pardon! I didn’t realize my nerves were showing so much.” She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder so that all he could see was the top of her dark hair. “My mind has accepted that I am well and truly free, but… my heart doesn’t feel it yet.” Her voice dropped so low he could barely hear her over the revelry. “Just in case… well, don’t let me hurt anyone, that’s all.”

“You won’t.” He smiled down at her. “Stop worrying. We’re here to enjoy the festival, after all.” He gave her a little tug. “Come on, let’s go check out some of the musicians.” He led her on a winding path through the crowds, heading toward the lively sounds of instruments playing nearby.

It was a group of Breton minstrels, doing an animated performance of some favorite local folk songs and Khalila brightened again, clapping along and joining the audience in singing the chorus. From there, they wandered on to listen to a heroic ballad about the Fall of Orsinium; then they were attracted by the exotic tune played by a troupe of Khajiit musicians, accompanied by dancers performing one of the many, many ritual moon dances of their people.

It was a complicated performance, certainly, and Talin had enough travel and experience to appreciate it. But it was apparently difficult to access for some of the locals.

“Eh, you stink!” barked a frowsy woman, and the man with her hissed a loud catcall that Khajiit, of all people, would find particularly offensive. The performers tried to ignore the discourtesy and go on with their performance, but this seemed only to make the hecklers even more determined.

“Go home, puss!” another man shouted, and then the first two produced a head of rotting cabbage from somewhere and began pelting the dancers.

Khalila frowned and took a step toward them, but her instinctive response was cut short by the Khajiit showman, an Omres-raht who slid up to the troublemakers.

“Sirs and ladies are most discerning,” he purred in a low voice. “This troupe’s performance is unworthy of your time. Tinzjet suggests you go to the next square, where there’s a fine comedy act that will entertain you.”

“Are you tryin’ to tell us to get lost, cat?” asked the largest of them. Not waiting for a response, he took a rough hold on the Khajiit’s vest and rifled a handful of stinking cabbage right in his face. The performance juddered to a halt as the other Khajiit stared in consternation.

“You stop that!” Khalila was rigid, her hand flying from Talin’s arm to her hip, only to find it bare of any weapon. A flicker of consternation went across her face, but she met the troublemaker’s glare without flinching.

“And who’s gonna make me, _slut_?”

Talin had the man by the throat seconds before his brain caught up to his body. He managed just enough control to keep from crushing the idiot’s windpipe, tempting though it was. His captive’s eyes went round as Talin dragged him in, nose to nose.

“Listen, friend,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “Your mouth is preventing me from enjoying the show. And if you ever speak so disrespectfully to my lady again, it will get you killed. Do we understand one another?”

Unable to speak, the man settled for nodding his head vigorously. Talin shoved him away and surveyed the remaining critics. “I suggest anyone who isn’t enjoying the entertainment here move along. Otherwise, you might ruin my evening, and you really don’t want to do that.”

Though there were a few glares among the crowd, Talin had apparently gotten his point across as the naysayers turned and melted into the throng.

There was a smattering of applause from the other audience members, then the Khajiit picked up their interrupted performance. When Talin turned to Khalila, he found her regarding him with a rueful smile, hands on hips.

“I am poised,” she said, “between being grateful for your gallantry and envious of your sheer presence. I was never so intimidating even with a sword in my hands! But I think I can forgive you.” Placing her hands on his chest, she rose on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Talin caught her arms, considering following her salute with a much more robust embrace, when there was a twitch at his sleeve.

It was the Omres-raht. “Tinzjet would thank you for your timely intervention, sir. Khajiit do not often find such kindness in the lands of men.”

With great reluctance, Talin let Khalila go and turned to face his new friend. Like most of his kind, he had a light coat of golden fur, and his face was painted with markings to make him appear more cat-like.

“Most men haven’t had the honor of spending time in your great land,” Talin said with a smile. “I spent close to a year in Elsweyr many moons ago. I found your people warm and gracious. I’m glad I could be here to help when you needed it.”

“Besides, helping those in trouble is the kind of thing any decent person should do,” Khalila added, her gaze friendly and sincere. “It’s something of a habit for both of us.”

“You are good and decent folk indeed,” the Khajiit replied, smiling at both of them. “Tinzjet would give you a special thanks: I am a bard, and wish to invite you to an exclusive gathering to be held later in the amphitheater. All present will be bards, and will give performances far exceeding that which you would see otherwise. Come join us after Secunda rises!”

Khalila’s face fell slightly, then she assumed a jaunty smile. “I’d love to go, if you would, Talin.”

“We’ll be there,” Talin said.

“Good, good.” Tinzjet bobbed his head, grinning. “Until later, then.” And with that he moved away to join his fellow performers.

Talin looked down at Khalila. “It seems we have some time to kill. What say we get a bite to eat?”

Her eyes widened, then she clapped a hand to her stomach.

“Actually, I’m famished! It was an eventful afternoon, to say the least; I’ll have to tell you about it some other time. Once we reached the inn, I was so busy getting ready and—and anticipating this evening, I’d hardly noticed. But now that you ask, I suddenly feel _faint_ with hunger!”

The sparkling look that accompanied this statement put it firmly in the category of hyperbole. In fact, Talin had never seen Khalila look happier than she did this evening. When he’d first met her, she’d been reserved, even withdrawn. As she traveled with him and Ro, she had begun to show signs of liveliness and even humor. But tonight, she hardly seemed to do anything but smile. She sent a quizzical one at him now.

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “It’s good to see you so free and happy, that’s all.”

“Because of you,” she said, eyes softening, and her arms slid around his neck as she pulled herself close and kissed him warmly. It was a gentle, affectionate kiss, but as he held her, Talin’s arms tightened instinctively and she responded, the kiss growing deep and passionate. But before anything more could come of it, Khalila’s stomach gurgled loudly and she released him, laughing and blushing. “I’m afraid I really must eat something. But we _will_ come back to that, I promise!” She took his hand firmly. “Where shall we eat?”

 

It had gone from a nice day to a lovely evening, the nearby sea keeping the spring air warm and slightly moist. The city was lit up by innumerable lanterns and torches, and people continued to celebrate with song and dance everywhere. Masser, just starting to wane, swam large in the sky behind the tallest tower of Camlorn’s palace. The sky in the east had begun to glow with the light of Secunda, which would be at full when it rose.

_This should be the perfect romantic moment_ , Khalila thought as she walked hand in hand with Talin. He himself did not disappoint: she’d been unable to breathe properly when she first saw him this evening. His formal, embroidered tunic was of fine craftsmanship, and it showed off the breadth of his shoulders; its turquoise color contrasted beautifully with his warm, dark skin. Her favorite part, though, was how the open neck emphasized the strong column of his throat. He smelled nice, too, of soap and herbs and clean man scent. It was wonderful to walk with him and enjoy the festival. Except at the back of her mind, a voice kept whispering.

_Secunda is coming. Is the curse really gone? Can I truly look forward to a normal, happy life again?_

One more turn of the street revealed the amphitheater, an open air auditorium cut into the rising slope of Camlorn’s eastern district, lined with stone benches all facing the stage at the bottom center. As they reached one of the entrances, they saw a crew cleaning up from a play that had been put on earlier, and the first bards were beginning to file in.

Khalila paused, dragging Talin to a halt, considering the logistics. This would be a very bad place if the curse did take her again. The Wolf would be closed in with scores of potential victims. She glanced nervously at Talin, who regarded her with his usual sangfroid, though she could see a touch of concern in his eyes.

“Perhaps… this might be a bad idea. Maybe we should go somewhere else, at least until Secunda rises. Somewhere… safer.”

To her dismay, she realized she was trembling slightly. Tears of anger and fear rose in her eyes, and she closed them, fighting to control her reaction.

Talin’s hand squeezed hers, giving it a gentle shake.

“No more running away,” he said firmly. “I promise, you’re as safe as you’ll ever be so long as I’m at your side.” He made for an empty bench not too far from the entrance, pulling her with him.

“I’m not afraid for myself,” she muttered, but allowed him to take her inside into a seat. Rather than enjoying the moment, she lapsed into contemplation of that statement.

_Was_ she afraid for herself? Not physically, certainly. If she was still cursed, then she doubted anyone here but Talin could do much to her, and he had long since proven he could protect others from her without doing her any harm. However, she had to admit that she truly _was_ scared, because she had allowed herself to hope. When she had stopped caring and retreated to the wilderness to await death in whatever form it took, it had been desolate but easy. But now that a tantalizing vision of a future full of love and happiness had filled her mind, the thought of continuing to live with her dire affliction was painful and bleak. She had allowed herself to be caught up in the moment, to act as if her cure was already a certain thing. But now that Secunda threatened in the sky, all she could think of was the danger, the shame and the despair that would come if she changed here.

Talin sat silent for several moments, watching the preparations for the bards’ celebration, but finally he turned a steady look on her and drew breath to speak.

“My friends!” same the voice of Tinzjet, who joined them with a pattering of boot heels. The Khajiit laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Tinzjet is so pleased to see you!”

It was difficult, but Khalila forced a pleasant expression to her face and looked up at the cat-like features. “Of course; we wouldn’t dream of missing such a wonderful invitation.”

“We’re honored to be here as your guests,” Talin affirmed. He nodded at the proceedings on the stage, where a number of Khajiit were busy with an elaborate set up. “What sort of performance is this to be?”

Tinzjet grinned, revealing an impressive set of canines. “The best music tells a story, yes? The one you are about to hear is an important part of Khajiit culture.”

Suddenly, one of the figures on stage leapt from it and scrambled up the auditorium, sliding to a halt before them with a skittering of claws on stone. This Khajiit was a Cathay-raht, and her fur stood spiked along her tail.

“Your pardon, Master Tinzjet,” she said, hunching, head low. “It is discovered that Miirsa has forgotten your gittern; she is most unworthy of your instruction. She will go to the Bards’ House and fetch it at once!”

“You cannot go now!” the Omres-raht replied, waving his arms. “The Waking Song begins soon, and you are the only one among us to represent the Cathay-raht. You must be there! Tinzjet will simply not play for the dancing later.” His tone of voice was calm, but the Khajiit’s shoulders slumped with unmistakable disappointment.

Khalila responded to that more than anything else, though the gods knew she had her own reasons for wanting to be elsewhere at the moment.

“We can go get it for you, no problem,” she said, rising from her seat.

“We’ll miss the performance,” Talin objected, though he rose to his feet, too.

“Tinzjet doesn’t wish to so trouble my friends again…” the troupe leader said, but the pleading look he gave her told her all she needed to know.

“I’m sure it won’t take long; we’ll see most of the presentations when we return. Where is the Bards’ House?”

She listened carefully to the directions and then looked to Talin, hoping he would take it in good part. From the expression on his face she could tell he guessed her motives were not completely altruistic. In the end, he simply shrugged.

“Sure, no problem. Will there be anyone there to let us in?”

“No, but you Tinzjet will trust with his own key.” The Khajiit reached into his pocket and produced a small brass one, the handle shaped to resemble a lute. Khalila let Talin take it, as his pouch was much larger than the tiny, embroidered purse she wore currently, then led the way out of the amphitheater.

She studied the surrounding streets with great care, because it gave her an excuse not to meet his eye, and set off at a brisk pace when she had found the right one. But before long, she felt his strong hand wrap around her elbow and he pulled her to a stop, turning her to face him. His expression was hard to read in the flickering streetlights, but she could make out enough to see he was searching her eyes.

“What happened to not running away?” he asked. “What happened to trusting me?” There was no anger or accusation in his voice, but a definite expectation of an answer. “And don’t even try to tell me that this is all about helping Tinzjet. I already know better.”

Khalila bit her lip, knowing she had disappointed him and surprised at the depth of the regret that caused her. But she met his eyes without flinching, searching her heart for the courage to give him a real answer.

“You’re right, of course,” she said at last. “I’m—I’m being a coward; hardly befitting behavior for a seasoned warrior, is it?” She squared her shoulders and kept tight control over her face and voice. “I spent over a year of my life in fear of my curse. It was the central preoccupation of my waking hours, and I was my own monster in the dark of every night. Then you and Ro brought me help; you faced my nightmares with me and helped me fight them. I’ve been… elated since then, sure I was free and need fear no more. But now, with Secunda on the horizon, I know that was only… transitory. The fear never really left. And it’s all the harder to fight since I’ve dropped all my defenses tonight.” She had to stop and take a deep, steadying breath so she could finish calmly. “I’m sorry.”

Talin sighed, his mouth ticking to one side in a clear gesture of defeat, and he released her arm.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I suppose it’s only natural that you won’t feel completely comfortable until you see for yourself that the curse is gone.” He glanced at the horizon, where the first shining white arc of Secunda was just beginning to peek over the hills. It would be some time before it was up fully.

Khalila suppressed an urge to continue begging his pardon. It was strange, but never had someone’s good opinion meant more to her than his.

“No doubt you’re right,” she said, trying for a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “I’m sure everything will be all right. But since I’ve involved us in this errand, we’d best finish it. Hopefully it’ll be quick, and we can return to the celebration.”

She reached out for his arm but then thought perhaps he wouldn’t be in the mood to hold her now and let her hand drop again. Her mouth twisted wryly and she started moving.

Talin caught up, walking easily at her side. He didn’t say anything until they reached the street where the house stood. It was a largish but shabby, brown stone structure in a run down section of town.

“Well, it certainly looks like an artists’ abode,” he observed. Pulling the key from his pouch, he fitted it in the lock. With an obliging click, the door swung open.

The entryway was lit by a single taper, enough light to reveal that they faced a staircase going up and a hallway that led left and right. According to Tinzjet’s instructions, they went right and at the end found the door to the storage room. It opened readily and they could dimly see inside that it was lined with shelves, and instrument stands stood clustered in the center of the room. The gittern was supposed to be on one of the stands but most of them were empty.

Which made sense, since most of the instruments were likely at the show with the performers. Talin moved farther into the room, navigating around the few pieces that were left, searching for the one they’d come to fetch. In the end, he shook his head.

“I don’t see a gittern here, do you?”

“No, but perhaps Tinzjet misremembered and it’s on a shelf…” Khalila peered into the dimness. “Let me get the candle.”

With a half-smile, Talin made the flourish that went with his _Light_ spell, illuminating the smallish room bright as day.

“Or that,” she said, smiling in answer.

With the light, the object of their hunt became obvious. On the top of a shelf on the left wall was a display box and sitting inside it was a small, red gittern with an elegantly carved neck and beautiful mother-of-pearl inlay on the frets and string anchor. She walked over and stretched up for it, but it was still inches from her fingertips.

“Can you get it down, please?”

Talin easily reached over Khalila’s head, gently lowered the glass door on the case and pulled the gittern out. He handed it to Khalila with a playful bow.

“As my lady wishes.”

She was just reaching out to take it from his hands, when there was a loud, metallic _click_ and the floor dropped out from under them.

For two or three seconds, it felt as though they were suspended in air, then they struck a flat, steeply angled surface with in impact that knocked the breath from them, and began to slide, swiftly picking up speed. They clung together, the gittern between them, trying to even out their descent. Then they were flying sideways through the air. Moments later, they landed on something that was mercifully soft and giving with yet enough force to stun Khalila.

She lay still for several seconds, gasping and confused, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Talin groaned from somewhere under her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, cradling her as he gingerly sat up. “Nice of Tinzjet to warn us that the display case was trapped. He’ll be lucky to get his gittern back in one piece.”

“I doubt he knew. This is a way house for traveling bards, after all.”

“Even so, you would think he would have triggered the trap himself when he opened the case to put his precious instrument in it.”

“That’s… a good point. Maybe this _isn’t_ his.”

Somewhat surprisingly, the gittern _was_ still in one piece, held close in her arms as she was in Talin’s. She turned to face him and found herself nose to nose with him, breathing in the same air. Their eyes locked and she leaned forward, reaching up to brush his braided hair back from his face. Except, it wasn’t hair that met her touch but something fibrous that stuck to her hand as she jerked it back.

“Erg! What _is_ this we’re in?”

She struggled to rise, sinking to her knees amongst the bundles of whatever it was. Her foot struck one and it rolled free of the pile, a big gray cylinder that broke open as it hit the stone of the ground, spilling the bones of a giant rat. As if in response, there came a creaking, skittering sort of noise from somewhere in the room.

“I have a terrible feeling I know,” Talin replied, his voice heavy. He rose beside her, tottered, then regained his balance, drawing a sturdy mithril sword from his back. It was one of his family’s own creations, originally meant for market, but after Chrysamere had been destroyed in the battle with Hircine, Talin had purloined this one for himself.

He muttered a brief incantation, and Khalila felt a momentary disturbance in the air around him.

“If you have a _Free Action_ potion on you, I suggest you take it now,” he said.

She didn’t, but before she could say so they were charged by three giant spiders. Ugly green things with red markings and eyes, they spat a flurry of webs into the air. With nothing but a tiny utility knife on her, Khalila grabbed the nearest bundle—cocooned prey, of course—and held it before her as a shield, deflecting the worst of the strands as Talin waded into battle.

In typical fashion, it took him no time at all to shred one beast with shards of ice, while gutting another with his blade. The third brought a pair of dripping, serrated pincers to bear on Talin’s leg, but its strike didn’t even leave a mark. With a quick, deft flick of his sword, he ran the creature through and it folded, its legs curling inward in death.

He turned to face her, as calm of demeanor as always. “Sure you don’t want one of the family swords?” he asked with a cheeky grin. “That Elven one hasn’t sold yet and it looks right about your size.”

Khalila dropped her burden, pulled out her knife and split the bundle open to survey the contents. Extracting a rotting leather purse, she looked up at him.

“Well, you see—I hesitated over that, because I felt I ought to be able to pay your family for its worth. You may be swimming in Imperial rewards, but I should think _they_ still need their income.” The next corpse delivered up a slightly rusty but serviceable steel weapon. “Ah. _This_ will do for now—a Blades’ katana. Good weapon.”

Talin shrugged. “As you will. But my family shares in my wealth. Do you really think I would keep anything from them?” He kicked over a spider’s carcass, pulled a vial from his pouch, and siphoned off a portion of venom from its maw.

“No. Of course not. But I wasn’t sure how much they wanted to accept from you,” she replied, wading out of the webs and dusting her skirt off with great care. “Everyone is pleased by generosity, but no one likes to feel they’ve taken charity.”

She stiffened then, looking past him with eyes wide.

He turned, and from a tightening of his shoulders, she knew he saw it, too. A faint figure, glowing blue amongst the shadows, grew more solid and took on shape until a ghostly form of a man dressed elegantly in the fashions of one hundred years ago could be seen. He was middle aged with a high hairline and neat beard and mustache, and held an insubstantial replica of the red gittern cradled in one arm. He gave them a courtly bow, then made a beckoning gesture and backed slowly through the wall.

Talin glanced at Khalila, then back at the spot where the apparition had disappeared. She knew that look. He was curious. If he hesitated, it was out of deference to her. She grinned at him.

“Of _course_ we have to find out what that’s all about! What red-blooded adventurer could resist an introduction like that?” She glanced back toward the chute high in the wall behind them. “Besides, I don’t think we’re getting out _that_ way.”

He smiled back, holding out a hand. “Shall we, then?”

Feeling some of the joy from the earlier part of the evening return, she clasped his hand tightly. “Let’s!”


	3. Dance, with Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghostly figure leads Talin and Khalila into dangerous territory.

Talin approached the wall, running a cautious hand over it. It took only a moment to find the crack where a slight draft indicated a secret door stood. He pressed against it, and with a faint click, a large slab swung open. Stepping inside, he looked left and right down a long, straight corridor. His _Light_ spell easily illuminated the passage, at the left end of which floated the ghostly figure that had led them through. Suppressing a smile, he moved in the direction of the beckoning spirit.

Ever since his first experience with catacombs, back when he had been forced to escape the Imperial Dungeons of Cyrodiil, Talin had favored navigating by following the left wall. Nice of the shade to be so accommodating.

The corridor was somewhat stuffy, but not dangerously so. It felt instead like a house that had been long shut up. Fine dust lay over everything. Clearly, no one had made it past the spiders in some time, perhaps not since the ghost had walked here as a man. Khalila surveyed the floor, then the ceiling and walls critically, then stepped forward with careful deliberation.

“Given we got down here through a trapdoor, I’m guessing we should be on the lookout for more of the same,” she said.

Talin nodded. “Agreed.” He padded forward with soft, measured steps, alert to any indication of pressure plates, tripwires, or other hidden triggers. The spectral image continued to hover at the bend in the corridor ahead, waiting with the sort of patience only the long dead could display.

Nothing jumped out to take them by surprise, and they reached the corner safely. Upon rounding it, they found it opened into a larger space. The ghost waited in the center of the room under a strange collection of tubes hanging from the ceiling. Beyond that, there were three doors in the far wall, each with different markings above them. Khalila went around the periphery of the room cautiously, and examined the markings.

Talin stared at the doors, reminded of a place in Skyrim—Labyrinthian, it had been called—with a similar room, though minus the tubes in the ceiling. He frowned. That was the second time in just a few short minutes that he’d hearkened back to his days of hunting down the Staff of Chaos. Ten years. Ten long, lonely years, he’d spent tracking those pieces. His family had believed him dead, and he’d let them. They were safer that way. If Tharn had ever found out who he was...

He shook himself, dragging his thoughts away from the troubling memories, and joined Khalila in front of the middle door.

The markings over each door were very similar; each was a rectangle filled with lines and circles. But in each rectangle, the circles were placed slightly differently on the lines. Talin examined the images for a moment in silence. He was no bard, but, “These look to me like musical notes.”

“That was my guess, too. So… probably the right musical phrase will open the right door. Two problems, though—none of these markings indicates a key, and how do we determine which is the right phrase to begin with?”

“Good question.” He scanned the room, looking for any additional clues. His eyes lit on the tubes in the ceiling and he rubbed his chin as a thought occurred. “Do you suppose those might be some kind of musical pipes?”

Her eyes lit up. “Why, yes! Allowing for the size, they look more than a bit like—like wind chimes! And our friend is standing right under them, too.”

She started briskly across the floor toward the tubes.

“Watch where you’re going,” Talin advised, examining the ground for any crevices or odd patterning that might indicate pressure plates. The surface was so laden with dust, however, it was difficult to tell.

“The _doors_ are the traps here,” she replied. “It would be redundant to put anything else in, I think.” Nonetheless, she chose her steps with a bit more care as she approached the center. As she did, the ghost faded out.

There was a circle set into the paving right under the tubes. Talin suffered a heart-stopping moment as Khalila boldly moved forward. Even as a warning formed on his lips, however, she was in the middle of the circle, and nothing happened.

He let out a slow breath and moved towards her.

“You know, you could have—.” He was cut off as a rush of air blew up around Khalila with the sound of a long sigh.

This had two effects, both quite charming: Khalila’s skirt fluttered up, exposing a great deal of her shapely and muscular tawny legs; and overhead, the pipes sounded with deep, clear bell-like tones. The wind died away, letting her smooth her dress back into place, but the chiming continued for nearly a minute longer. Silence returned, leaving the room unchanged.

“Interesting,” Talin said, turning to examine the notes over the doors once more. “Did you notice how repetitive the tune was? See if you can get it to play again.”

Khalila stepped off and then back on, this time with her skirt clutched close. The wind and chiming repeated exactly as before. Talin returned to the doors, trying to correlate the sounds with the notes over the doors, but all he could tell was that there were five distinct notes in the chiming and five separate notes over the doors.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid my experience with music is limited. Whatever this thing is trying to tell us is lost on me.” He reached up to feel the notes engraved in the stone. There must be something he was missing. At those words, however, her face suddenly lit up and she hurried over to join him.

“Of _course_ —this is meant for someone who does have experience with music! A bard. And what would a bard do? _Play_ the music, or sing it!”

“Yeah, but we still don’t know which melody we should play. Even if the key is the key, so to speak, I don’t have a good enough ear, nor can I read music well enough to decipher which one is correct. Plus I don’t play an instrument, and you really don’t want to hear me sing. I don’t suppose you have any musical talent do you?”

“Well… some.” She hadn’t seemed terribly discomfited by losing control of her skirt, but now she blushed. “With the upbringing I had, I was required to learn certain social skills and graces, not just the Way of the Sword. So, yes, I was taught to play some instruments. And a gittern does happen to be among them. But it’s been _quite_ a while. I hope I remember well enough. I think the first thing to do would be to tune the gittern to the key of the chimes.”

Talin leaned against a wall, folded his arms, and grinned. “This one is all you, then.”

Khalila’s blush deepened, but she handed him her sword matter-of-factly and took the red gittern in both hands. She ran a quick series of notes on the strings, then her lips parted in a small “o”.

“It still seems to be in tune! Given that it’s doubtful anyone has touched it in years, I suspect either the case or the gittern itself has a touch of magic about it. But I don’t think it’s in the key we need. Would you kindly sound the chimes again?”

Talin obligingly stepped into the circle. He was surprised, as the air washed around him, to discover it was warm, like a summer breeze. He listened intently as the chimes played again, still hoping to discern some useful pattern in them.

But Khalila was right—they rang in no particular order or cadence that he could recognize. They seemed to just be over-sized wind chimes. Meanwhile, she fixed on the deepest note and swiftly tuned the instrument’s lowest string to it. Letting the echoes die away, she then went through the process of tuning the rest of the strings in harmony with the first. Talin might not have an ear for music but even he could hear it as they came into tune.

“One more time, please,” she said, and he took the necessary pace once more. The chimes sounded, and Khalila strummed each string in turn. She had to change her fingering to get some of the notes, but she was at last satisfied.

“All right, I think I have it. I noticed the left and middle doors have the same note sequence, just in different keys, so that’s more likely to be right. If I do have the right key, then playing that phrase should open the correct door. Any precautions you think we should take?”

“Just a couple.” He quickly put up his _Shield_ and _Spell Master_ , then took a position in front of the door, sword at the ready. “Ok, go ahead.”

Khalila moved to stand a few feet behind him, where she could be sure the sound would reach the door, but take advantage of his protections as much as possible.

“Okay, here goes.”

She plucked the strings of the gittern with great deliberation, one note after the other. Without fanfare or other flourishes, the middle door opened smoothly, revealing another straight corridor beyond it, where waited the ghost.

“Nicely done.” Talin didn’t even try to keep the pride from his voice. Khalila was smart, beautiful, and full of hidden talents. He was a lucky man indeed.

“I recognize it now.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite seem to reach her eyes, and it seemed to him she sounded just a little melancholy. “It’s an old love song called, appropriately enough, ‘Let Me In’.”

She proceeded to play the opening notes again in a far more lively fashion, followed by the rest of the tune, singing along to it. Her playing was well enough, as far as he could tell, but her voice was something else again, a clear, bell-like low soprano that seemed to hang in the air even after she’d finished.

“The door to your heart has been closed for so long

But today it must open to the sound of my song

I long to cross your lintel and hold you so close

Lover, won’t you let me in to where your fire glows?”

“There’s definitely some suggestive subtext there,” she added dryly, slinging the gittern across her back again. “‘Cross your lintel,’ indeed!”

Edging his way into the new passage, he kept his eyes on the phantom, but his other senses were alert to any hint of danger.

“Okay, friend,” he said to the Ghost, “now what?”

The ghost bowed courteously, the first real sign he had given that he was actually aware of them, and turned to float down the corridor. His cold, blue radiance illuminated the further walls in contrast to Talin’s warmer _Light_ spell. Khalila fell in at Talin’s side, grinning.

“This is actually fun! Except for Glenfiend’s Hollow, I haven’t done any dungeon crawling in a long time.” She reached out to hug him with one arm. “I hope you’re having a good time, too.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on the curve of her hip as they followed the specter. “More exciting than a flower festival, that’s for sure. No offense to Tamriel’s fine flora, of course.”

She laughed at his sally, but her smile quickly dimmed.

“Adventuring—it really changes you, doesn’t it?” she said. “The memory of my first quest is still as fresh as if I’d just done it. There was some wild beast attacking local farms and killing the livestock. When it finally slew a lone traveler it was obvious that it had to be dealt with, and as a child of the local lord, it was my part to do so. My swordmaster believed I was ready; I was nineteen and had studied with him for four years.”

As they talked, the ghost led them through the lair without hesitation, though the hallways were numerous and winding.

“Together, we went out to track the beast and followed its spoor back to a cave in the foothills. Once inside, two things became clear—the monster we had followed was a Harpy, and she wasn’t alone. We spent most of three days clearing the brood out. It was the most difficult thing I had ever done, and the most frightening, but afterward, I felt so… proud and strong and it made me incredibly happy to know I had helped so many people.” She gave a small chuckle. “I was completely hooked after that.”

Talin smiled at the warmth in her voice. He recalled once again his desperate flight from Cyrodiil’s Imperial dungeons all those years ago. “My memories are not nearly so fond as yours. I’d taken a position at the Imperial Palace as apprentice to Ria Silmane, who was in turn apprenticed to Jagar Tharn, a name I’m sure you know well.” He shook his head at how stupid he’d been back then. “I had thought to have a cushy life as a minor part of the court. An adventurer’s life was the farthest thing from my mind. But then Tharn betrayed the Emperor and took the throne for himself. Ria died trying to stop him.” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. Two decades later, and the pain could still wrench him in unexpected ways.

Khalila’s eyes softened.

“The fight against Jagar Tharn was your very first quest? I didn’t realize. What a terrible ordeal for anyone to face, but especially when so young and inexperienced.” She drew him to a stop and turned to put both arms around him and hugged him tightly. “You must have felt so _alone_. I know exactly what that’s like.”

He patted her on the back, feeling somewhat awkward at the sympathy being offered. “Well, to be perfectly honest, the fight with Tharn was some ten years after he took Septim’s place. My very first quest was all about saving my skin by escaping the hole where he’d thrown me to die.” She loosened her grip on him just enough to search his eyes, her expression so earnest it momentarily took his breath away. “But, yes, those were lonely years for me. I was never so glad about anything when it was all over as I was to get home.”

She continued to look at him, her expression turning thoughtful.

“That was all a very long time ago, as you say. I-I can’t help but wonder why you were _still_ alone when I met you.”

He frowned, confused. “I wasn’t. I was with Ro.”

She glanced behind her to see that the Ghost was disappearing around a corner, oblivious to their preoccupation, so she started forward again, picking up the pace.

“That’s not exactly what I meant, my dear,” she said evenly. “Family is all well and good, but a sister can’t take the place of a partner. Why haven’t you married? I know,” she added with a sideways gleam of her eyes, “from a few things Ro has let drop, that you have something of an eye for… ladies.”

A warm flush washed through Talin. He’d known someday this conversation was going to happen, but he wasn’t ready for it. Especially not now, in the belly of some long-shut up maze. That was exactly the kind of distraction that could get someone killed.

“Come on, we need to catch up,” he said, hurrying after their ghostly guide.

She was quiet as they made up the distance and fell in once more behind the ghost. But then she spoke again, her voice firm.

“Talin. We do need to discuss these things, and sooner rather than later. I—you already mean so very much to me. I need to know what I mean to you, where I stand amongst whatever others there have been.” Her lips curved slightly. “And we have privacy here. I don’t think this conversation would be _more_ comfortable with Ro joining in, do you?”

“Yes, I know. You’re right, we do need to talk about it. But privacy or not, I don’t think this is a good place for it. We need to stay alert...”

“Well, I can’t make you talk if you’re not ready,” she said, moving past him with a slight shrug of her shoulders, then flung a wicked smile back at him. “But I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours!”

They rounded the corner to find the ghost standing near the wall, looking down the corridor, yet another blank stretch indistinguishable from the rest they had already traversed. Khalila paused, studying it.

Talin stopped just short of running her over. He examined the passageway, but saw nothing remarkable in it. “Something catch your attention?” He hoped so. Any kind of reprieve from the uncomfortable direction of their discussion would be welcome.

“No, but I wonder why the ghost stopped. I think I see a door just ahead at the edge of the light. Maybe there’s another test or something coming up?”

She started forward again, looking around, and Talin went with her, very glad her attention had been redirected. They made it just about six steps down the corridor, when he more felt than heard a _clack_ under them. With a hideous shriek of metal, an object large enough to take up the width of the corridor suddenly swung toward them from the ceiling, studded with cruelly gleaming spikes.

Talin reacted with the speed of thought, throwing himself at Khalila. But fast as he was, there wasn’t enough time to get her out of the way. So he did the only thing he could and shielded her body with his own, praying that his magic protection would be enough to keep them both safe.

He wrapped himself around her, shoving her up against the wall, even as she gave a tiny shriek, and then several hundred pounds of force slammed into him. He was smashed into Khalila, their heads knocking together, and they were crushed brutally into the wall. Despite his shielding, the impact was terrible, driving all the breath from his body. His eyes flew wide and he sucked desperately for air.

“Talin!” she cried, her small hands seizing him. Her eyes were huge and terrified. “Talin! How bad is it? Can you speak?”

After a couple of deep breaths, he regained enough aplomb to assess the situation. A metal grate, liberally scattered with barbs, had fallen into them and probably should have killed them both. As it was, he was going to be quite bruised from the impact, but it would seem his _Shield_ spell had held off any true injury. Now, the two of them were pinned in place by the device’s weight, Talin pressed solidly up against Khalila’s curves. She tightened her grip painfully and shook him.

“Are you _hurt_?” she bawled into his ear.

“No,” he gasped. “Just... winded. Give me just a moment.” So tightly packed against the wall were they that he could barely move, but he still managed to get one hand free and place it on the wall behind her. He muttered a quick incantation, and the stonework behind Khalila melted away. With nothing left to support them, they tumbled together into the small niche he had made, but he managed to set them both aright before any more damage was done. With room to move now, he held Khalila by the shoulders, his eyes searching for signs of injury.

“How about you? Are you okay?”

 

Khalila stared into his eyes, panting a bit now that she could breathe properly, and shook her head.

“I’m all right,” she replied. “You took the worst of it.”

Again, her mind replayed the look on his face when he’d been struck, the tremor his big body had given. She’d been sure he’d been wounded very badly; she’d seen men look just so on receiving a mortal blow. Tears welled up in her eyes and she clutched him close.

“I changed my mind,” she said, her face muffled against his chest. “I don’t care whatever women there were. I’m just so grateful you’re all right!”

He sighed, caressing her back. “I promise, I will talk about it with you. Though if it’s any help, there’s never been one to compare with you. Okay?” He lifted her chin on his finger, wiping away her tears. “Right now, we just need to figure out how to get out of here. I can burrow a little further, just depends on which way we should go.”

She laid her hand over his for a moment, pressing it against her cheek, then took a deep breath and pulled herself together to think.

“Ah—can you get back to where the Ghost was? He’s had a reason for all his stops so far.”

“Right.” He oriented himself, then tunneled past the spiked trap and back out into the open corridor. He traced an arcane symbol in the air, whispering an incantation, and she felt his protections spring back into place.

He started to move toward the ghost and Khalila stepped in front of him.

“I-I want to say thank you. You undoubtedly saved my life.” The next part was hard to voice, but that only made her the more determined to address it. “I think it was my fault, too. I _was_ looking for trigger plates, but evidently not close enough, because I definitely felt something shift under my foot right before the trap sprang. I’m sorry for endangering the both of us.”

“We were walking side by side,” he said. “And I’m the heavier of the two of us, so who’s to say I wasn’t at fault?” He smiled. “Anyway, it hardly matters. I expect you’d look out for me just as I do for you. Right?”

That moment when she had thought Talin on the verge of death flashed though her mind again, and the rush of emotion that came with it was shocking. She looked down, struggling with pain and grief, followed swiftly by the knowledge that she would die herself before allowing him to come to harm. Khalila raised her eyes to his, putting her whole soul into her answer.

“There is _nothing_ I would not do to keep you safe, Talin Nubo.”

Talin’s expression grew serious and he regarded her with a small crease between his brows. “I... know.” He nodded. “I know that.” Pulling her into a hug, he said nothing, just held her close for a long time.

It was then that the lesson she had just learned crystalized. She had cared deeply for Talin for weeks now, and knew her heart had been won as they had trusted each other on the battlefield a week ago. But she had held off from committing to him, waiting to be sure that she was cured, that things would be under her control.

But they _never_ would be, no matter if her curse was gone or not. All she could do was live with her heart open and hope for the best. At least then she would know she had left nothing to chance on her own part. She closed her eyes as warmth spread through her, finally melting away her fears. Quietly, she whispered into his ear, “I also want you to know—I’ve never felt—never _loved_ anyone the way I love you.”

Talin squeezed her tighter, then released her. His lower jaw worked like he was trying to make a response, but nothing came out. Finally, he looked over her head at the ghost. “We probably shouldn’t keep our friend waiting,” he said.

Khalila smiled at him fondly. “He’s waited quite a long time already; I doubt a few more minutes will bother him unduly. But you’re right that we should move on.” Her voice softened slightly. “Don’t worry, I don’t need a response from you. When and if you feel the same, you’ll let me know, and that’s soon enough.”

She broke the tension of the moment by turning and moving to where the ghost stood. A flick of his eyes to the wall set her to running her hands over the stonework. She thought she heard Talin sigh in relief as he followed her and began his own examination of the stone surface. She had to pause a moment to suppress a heartfelt chuckle; he was _so_ endearingly awkward right now, it was all she could do to not laugh at him. But she knew it would wound his pride, so she kept it to herself.

Just then, her fingers found one stone that wiggled slightly.

“I think I’ve found a catch here. Dare I press it?”

He took a moment to look over the floor, ceiling, and opposite wall before nodding. “Might as well.”

At once, she pushed on it and it sank under her fingers with a tiny _click_. A responding metallic _clunk_ sounded from the ceiling in the vicinity of the trap, but nothing else happened. The ghost, however, seemed satisfied and started down the corridor past the spiked grate. Khalila looked after him, then at Talin.

“Something that disarms the trap, provided you haven’t already set it off?” she asked with a puzzled frown.

Talin glared after the ghost. “Thank you,” he called. “That was very helpful.” Growling under his breath, he followed in the Phantom’s wake.

“I doubt he’s entirely aware of what’s going on with us, you know,” Khalila said as she joined him. This time, nothing happened as they walked down the corridor. “I’ve read one theory that to a specter, the real world is as faint and insubstantial as the spirit one is to us. He knows we’re here, and remembers from his own life what must be done to pass safely, but what actually occurs is probably very hard for him to read.”

As they left the trapped section, the door that Khalila had thought she’d seen became clear. Or rather, _doorway_. It was right at the end of the hall, and had once held a large brazen door, possibly a reused Dwemer artifact, embellished as it was with gears and bolts. But some act of violence had ripped it from its frame, bending it back and warping it past use. The ghost stopped and turned on the threshold; his eyes were wide and he spread his arms in clear warning.

“Sure, now you warn us,” Talin grumbled. He peered past the ghost’s outstretched arms at the room beyond.

 

As he looked, magic-imbued torchieres flamed to life along the wall, showing the room clearly. It seemed to be a storeroom of some kind, perhaps even a treasury. It was big and circular, perhaps some fifty feet in diameter and thirty tall; the floor and walls were tiled in blue and cream, but gouts of rusty brown streaked them liberally. Shelves lined the walls between the lamps and stone slabs were set in a ring in the center. They were largely bare, with a few broken bits and pieces and scraps of paper scattered on them. And in the very center of the room was something… odd, something that didn’t seem to belong. He couldn’t see it well over the slabs, but it looked to be rubbish fixed together by unknown means in some sort of deliberate pattern.

He looked sideways at the ghost. “Well, what now? You brought us here, but you don’t want us to go in, is that it?”

The ghost held his pose for several seconds, and then the present seemed to fade away from him. His arms dropped and he turned, recoiling in surprise at what he saw in the room. He hesitantly laid a hand on the doorframe and leaned in, and his spectral lips called out silent words. After a moment, he stepped forward, slowly pacing toward the center of the room.

“I think we’ve lost our guide,” Khalila said after a moment. “But I don’t see any choice save to go forward, do you?”

“Well, we certainly aren’t going to learn anything standing about in the hallway.” He grinned, then edged into the room, his sword poised and his free hand spell-ready to strike at any ugly surprises that might arise. Khalila followed right on his heels, her own blade held tensely at her side.

The ghostly bard stopped in the center and leaned down to stare at the object there; he reached out one transparent hand to touch it, but recoiled before he had. He staggered backwards, flailing at something unseen, then drew his own weapon and began a wild wind-milling with it. He staggered and began to bleed dark ichor from his back. He was whirled around, knocked sideways and fell out of their sight.

Talin felt Khalila twitch at his side, and knew she had repressed the urge to run to the bard’s aid, decades too late.

“What in Oblivion happened here?” he breathed. He inched closer to the mass in the middle of the room, examining it with caution.

Those few more steps brought them to the circle of stone slabs and what lay within. It was a weird conglomeration of bits and pieces: scraps of fur and leather, in multiple shades of brown and olive, painted with strange and unpleasant symbols in the same rusty color as splattered the room; and a framework made of many different bones wired together, along with various stones and talismans worked in to the lot. Near to it, in the very spot the ghost had fallen, was a single, dried husk of a body lying in a wide, brown stain. Its head was flung back at an unnatural angle, the throat a ragged ruin. It could just be told that the clothing was indeed that of their guide.

“He… brought us to the place where he died,” Khalila murmured. “But what killed him?”

As if in answer, every symbol and talisman on the construct as well as all the torches burned vile green and cold, and white shapes formed all around them. A hissing whisper filled the room as every shade turned their empty, hollow eyes on the two and rushed to the attack.


	4. Finding Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talin and Khalila face off against a horde or spectral forces.

Several dozen ghostly shapes flew around Talin and Khalila like a whirlwind of leaves, and though corrupted from their former selves, it was possible to make out that most of them were bards. Here a Khajiit, there an Argonian, Humans of every nation, possibly even an Elf or two. But they were now figures of nightmare, eyes like pits and mouths that were hollow wounds in their distorted faces. Most disturbing of all, one by one each raised his voice in an eerie wail, creating a chorus of infernal harmony.

A Human form, Redguard by her dress, dove at Talin and raked ghastly claws across him and he felt his _Shield_ spell weaken. Another, a Nord, shot a coruscating stream of blackness that yet somehow glowed, briefly enveloping him. The _Master Spell_ took it, whatever it was, refilling his magicka reserves and throwing the rest back at the shade. But more of the black energy flared around the ghost, protecting it in turn.

Even as his mind assessed the danger, a part of him reacted with curiosity. He’d never seen a spirit with protections against magic before. Wondering if the shades could be hurt by more conventional means, he swiftly brought his blade to bear on the female Redguard, who was nearest.

The weapon slashed across her, leaving a red streak behind, and the shade recoiled and flitted away, shrieking. Khalila lunged past him, avoiding a Khajiit’s claws, her blade flicking out in a maneuver that would have taken the thing’s hand off had it been alive but only sent the ghost fleeing. While she was distracted, the Nord surged toward her unprotected back and slashed downwards with both hands. But rather than doing her harm, there was an electric blue spark as it came into contact with the gittern and the shade fell back.

“The gittern,” Talin said, even as he drove his broadsword through the Nord’s middle. “It’s shielded!”

“Explains why the deadfall didn’t shatter it,” she said and whipped it from her back, holding it where the neck met the body. She was just in time to meet the charge of another ghost—but this one was different. It was unmistakably the form of an Orc in battle armor, huge axe raised over his head. He brought it down on her and she caught it with the gittern, eliciting more sparks, then ran him through under his raised arm. He squealed and veered away.

The shades were pressing around them more thickly now, slashing and spraying them both with negative energy. Khalila cried out as she was caught full on by one such burst, falling to her knee. Another ghost got through her guard and raked her down one arm, shredding sleeve and skin alike.

Talin cursed her attacker, quickly putting himself between them. Anger lent his arm additional strength and he cleaved the shade clean through the neck. “Are you okay?” he called over his shoulder.

He felt her surge to her feet and press her back against his; she was panting, but steady.

“I’ll live—for the next few minutes, at least,” she said, sword whirling through another ghost. “We’re hurting them, I think, but not enough.”

Several things happened almost at once—the Nord’s shade surged up through the floor in front of Talin and blasted him with another magical strike, which was reflected back in its face. Its shield flared then failed and the ghost seemed to shatter into little bits; beyond it Talin saw something even more important. A light brown bit of leather in the magic construct reacted—the runes on it brightened and then winked out as the ghost failed. Moments later, the talisman woven into the structure at that juncture glowed, and the Nord reappeared above the device. For one second, he looked like an ordinary person, a look of misery and horror on his face, and then he twisted once again into an abomination and rejoined the attack.

Talin’s stomach twisted as realization set in. The mass—it must contain the remains of the slain bards’ bodies. Whatever those talismans were, they somehow produced and controlled the shades, who were as much victim as foe. He sucked in a horrified breath. What had any of them done to merit such a curse?

“Khalila, I’m going to try to get close to that... conglomeration. I think if I can break it apart, the shades will disappear.”

He felt her shudder as she took another hit—whether physical or magical he couldn’t tell—and then she nodded.

“Hurry,” was all she had breath for as she slashed to one side and blocked with the gittern on the other.

Talin wasted no time leaping for the mound of dried flesh and bones. He stopped just short of the edge, lifted his sword above his head, and brought it crashing down, meaning to splinter the pile into its component parts. But the blade connected with an invisible barrier that flashed red and black as the metal crashed into it. The impact jarred Talin’s teeth and sent his vision dancing for a moment before he shook off the shock.

“Okay, that’s obviously not going to work,” he muttered. Drawing on his magical energies, he threw a fireball at the bards’ remains. He didn’t really expect he’d have any better luck, but was still disconcerted when the shield seemed to absorb the spell into itself rather than reflecting it away.

He turned to ask his companion if she had any ideas only to realize he could barely see her for the shades swarming around her. They had found him too difficult to assault and so went after the far less-protected woman. She fought like a Daedra but was quickly losing so uneven a fight.

With a deep-throated growl, he quickly moved to her aid. Within moments, he’d carved his way through the swarm and pulled her behind him, backing her into a wall, and taking the attack on full force so she could have a moment to breathe and collect herself.

The ghosts twisted in front of him like a supernatural windstorm, shrieking and wailing their grim harmonies and deluging him with their deathly energies. The _Spell Master_ flung it back at them, spattering them here and there with red damage.

“No—no go?” Khalila gasped, leaning against his back heavily.

“I’m afraid not,” Talin said. “It’s protected by some sort of magical shield.” But his attention was drawn to the damage the shades seemed to be taking from the reflected magic. When the Nord’s spirit had initially shrugged off his redirected spell, Talin had assumed that it, too, was protected with a mirror shield. He was beginning to suspect that he was wrong. Their shields seemed to be something else entirely. Something that, with enough power, could be penetrated. Focusing his attention on one of the shades that seemed most vulnerable, he spewed lighting at it with his free hand.

It was the Khajiit Khalila had wounded. The lightning crackled all over the shade, sparking up red and black off whatever energy was protecting it. But as Talin deluged it, the shield gave way, and the shade shivered apart. A talisman on the construct began to glow again.

Talin grinned. “Right then. Try this, you lot.” Sheathing his sword, he let loose his magic with both hands. Lightning and ice engulfed the spectral figures, rending them to pieces with the very magic they continued to pour into him. In the center of the room, the talismans lit up in an eerie glow, reforming the shades and sending them back into battle, where Talin once again blasted them apart.

“I can keep this up for a good while,” he said, “but we won’t make any progress this way. If you have any ideas, I’d love to hear them.”

“The thing didn’t activate until we came in, so maybe…” Khalila suggested hesitantly, “maybe if we get out of the room, we can get out of range?”

“Worth a try,” Talin said. “Ready?”

“One second.” She slipped a small vial out of her pouch, uncorked it and drank it off. Moments later, her numerous wounds stopped bleeding and began to heal over. “Around the wall, as close as the shelves will let us, then?”

He nodded; Khalila held the gittern in front of her in a guard position, her sword arm primed at her side and they began a long curve around about a third of the room. She fended off anything coming from the sides and he poured energy and more energy at the ghosts. They burned and expired by the dozens in the attack but never stopped, coming in wave after regenerating wave. Finally, the pair won the doorway and fell out into the hall… only to be pursued by the angry spirits, still wailing an unearthly descant as they once more teemed on all sides.

“Well, I guess that answers that,” Talin said. “Looks like we’re going to have to find a way to deal with the source.”

Khalila drove her sword through an Altmer, banishing her, and then turned to say something to him, eyes bleak. In that moment’s lapse, the shade of another Orc popped out of the wall behind her and with a swipe of his greatsword took her legs right out from under her. Crimson shreds of silk mingled with crimson drops of blood in a fine rain as she fell, gittern and sword landing on the stones next to her. She tried to push herself upright, reaching out for her weapons, but just as her fingers curled around the neck of the gittern, her eyes rolled back and she went limp.

Talin moved quickly, straddling her form, blasting a clear arc around them. He strained his ears, managing to catch the soft sound of her breathing over the rising wails of the reforming shades, but he didn’t know what to do next save continue the battle and hope she came to.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Between his feet, the gittern began to glow with a soft, clean blue light. As it brightened, wisps of vapor floated up out of it and settled on Khalila, who also began to glow. After a few moments, her eyes opened and she haltingly pushed herself up, inched out from under Talin and got to her feet. There was a certain deliberation about her movements that was entirely unlike her usual grace. She looked around then smiled at Talin with quiet reassurance and, after collecting the gittern, began to glide back into the treasury, the glow surrounding her like an aura.

Talin’s heart tried to crawl out through his throat. She’d been possessed, it would seem, by the spirit of the gittern. He hoped it was the same friendly ghost-guide who had owned the instrument—the smile she’d given him would seem to indicate so—but there was no way to be sure. And there was nothing he could do save continue to fight, forcing his opponents back as he followed Khalila, praying to every divine there was that he could protect her if she were in danger.

As Khalila continued her walk into the heart of the storm, the shades swarmed around her, clawing and blasting away, but every attack was repelled by flares of white from her aura. Quickly, most of the assault was directed at Khalila alone, as if she had become the greatest threat, giving Talin some breathing space. Arriving at the infernal mechanism in the center, she swung the gittern onto her back in a casual, familiar gesture, as though she’d done it hundreds of times, then held out her hand. The aura spread out, came into contact with the shield in a flare of purple and blue light, and then Khalila passed through it and stood before the grisly construct. With a detached expression, she surveyed it carefully, then reached in and pulled out a collection of stones, teeth and bits of metal wired together into a shape Talin realized bore a primitive resemblance to the glyph for a _Shield_ spell. Her little knife came out and sliced through the cords binding it into the device, and the shield over the whole winked out with no fanfare.

She looked up, once more with that dreamy smile, and crooked her fingers at him to come close.

Keeping a wary eye on the swarm of shades, Talin heeded Khalila’s—or was it the dead bard’s?—beckoning. Reaching her side, he gripped her arm, trying to determine if she was still safe, still warm, still alive.

Her hand closed over his at once; it was warm and he could feel her breath against his skin. Moreover, he realized that all the latest wounds she’d taken had closed without a trace, even the severe slash across her legs that had downed her. Her mouth opened and her lips writhed; she looked faintly startled and tried again.

“All—all is… well,” she said; it was her own voice, but pitched lower than she normally spoke. “The talismans… bind my comrades to this… abomination. They resist… heat and cold. I know not if they can withstand electricity… I cannot cast it. But destroy the charms and you stop the… threat.”

Talin breathed out in relief. With Khalila out of danger—for the moment at least—he could better concentrate on the task at hand. “Stay behind me,” he said, focusing his magics into energy that cracked and sizzled around his hands. He chose a talisman near the edge of the mound and threw twin bolts of lightning at it, squinting against the white-hot light that exploded from the collision of magic against magic.

The result was spectacular—the talisman crackled briefly then exploded in a cascade of green sparks all out of proportion to its size, leaving behind a melted lump of blackened metal and shattered stones. Near the wall Talin faced, one of the swooping shades suddenly fell into a heap on the floor. It dimmed, then turned a lovely golden color and rose to stand once more as an Altmer woman. Her features went slack in utter relief and she closed her eyes and threw back her head to sing out one long, clear note.

It was beautiful. And inspiring. Triumph surged in Talin’s heart as he unleashed his _Lightning_ on talisman after talisman. The area turned white with the energies unleashed, the sounds of the detonations reverberating through the round room at a deafening pitch. Behind him, he was aware of Khalila exerting the ghost’s power to protect the two of them from the attacks of the shades not yet unchained, but more and more were turning back to ordinary spirits. Every freed bard turned gold and raised his or her voice in song—there the Khajiit, here the Nord, over there the Redguard woman. Talin also saw one of the Orcs change back. She turned jade green and instead of singing, she dropped her head into her hands, hiding her face.

Moments later, Talin had destroyed the last shackle holding the spirits bound. All around him and Khalila was an incredible chorus of unearthly beauty sung in words he could almost, but not quite, understand. The last note rang out and faded away, and the bards all raised their hands, opened their eyes—and flew upwards in pillars of light. The Orcs, however, turned red, raised their weapons—and rushed from the room on a hot wind.

Finally, Talin was alone with Khalila—and the ghost.

He wanted to grip Khalila by the arms, to look deep into her eyes and ask if she were still in there. On some objective level, he knew she was, but it was disconcerting to have another consciousness staring at him with her features. He was impatient; he wanted her back. Now. But this was probably their only chance to get some answers, and he couldn’t let it slip away.

“Your people’s souls are free now,” he said to the Khalila-ghost. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

A flurry of expressions rippled over her face, too quickly to make out, then she hesitantly began to speak again.

“Not certain—I wasn’t here. I was killed by… that.” She gestured to the construct, then shook her head. “Never seen… necromancy and… shamanistic magic combined before.” Her eyes grew distant, looking through Talin. “We… spied for the crown. Stopped an Orcish plot or two. Likely, this was… retribution. All of us gone… in the attack, or after… like me. We owe much to you and Khalila…”

Talin shook his head. “You owe us nothing. I know Khalila would agree with me that we are honored we could help. Will you rest now? With your friends?”

The ghost gave Talin his tranquil smile. “Shortly.”

Khalila began to walk, stepping around the defiled remains of the bards, and approached the stone slab opposite the door they had entered. She ran one hand under the lip and then, with a grinding sound, the top of the slab slid back to reveal a hidden compartment filled with several bundles.

“Please… take these as a token of my gratitude.”

Then Khalila’s face went blank and the glow condensed into her. A moment later, the bard’s ghost stepped free of her body and her knees buckled.

Talin caught her before she fell too far, sinking to his knees as he cradled her against his chest. “Khalila?” he whispered. Her eyes were closed, her face showed no sign of life. He shook her gently. “Khalila.”

She drew a deep breath and her eyelids flickered open, exactly like someone waking from a deep sleep. After a moment, her lovely eyes looked up at him and she smiled her own smile.

“I’m all right. I’m fine, in fact. But that was a very strange experience!”

He grinned back, sure his relief must be apparent. “I’m just glad you’re you again.” He stood, helping her to her feet. “Were you aware at all of what was going on while the ghost possessed you?”

“More or less; it was all rather dreamlike.” Khalila retained her hold on him, either unable to unwilling to stand alone yet. “But I remember his using his—I’m not sure what to call it, essence, perhaps—to protect me from the death energies, and I definitely remember you destroying the construct!” She turned to the ghost, who stood there, glowing and beaming. “His name is Vincentian Quinterius, from Cyrodiil, a bard and mage in service to the fourth Uriel Septim.” The bard made a small bow.

Talin nodded his head in return. “Um, it’s a... pleasure?” He wasn’t sure that was the most diplomatic thing to say to a dead guy, but it seemed the polite thing to do.

Vincentian promptly doubled over in a silent but hearty belly laugh. After a moment, he straightened, wiping phantom tears from his eyes, and grinned his goodwill at Talin. He then turned to Khalila and drew the ghostly twin of the gittern from his back—and held it out to her with both hands.

“You… want me to keep this?” she asked, touching the real thing, and Vincentian nodded. “Thank you; I’m honored!”

The bard then took several steps back from them, blew them a kiss with both hands and turned his face to the ceiling. At once, he seemed to stand in a pillar of golden light. His face took on an expression of rapture and music burst from him as he streamed upwards to his final rest.

Khalila laid her head on Talin’s chest and sighed deeply. He held her close, savoring the feel of her, breathing in the sandalwood scent of her hair. “Are you feeling all right?” he murmured against the top of her head.

“Surprisingly, I am,” she replied, her arms tightening around him. “Not only did our friend heal all my injuries, but I feel like I just slept the night through.” She tilted her head back to send a glinting look up at him. “How about you?”

Now that Talin thought about it, he, too, felt unexpectedly refreshed.

“I feel good,” he confirmed. Curiosity drew his eyes to the parcels Vincentian had left them. “Shall we see what gifts we’ve been given?”

“By all means.” She released him and took several steps, then froze and looked down at herself. The noise she made might have been called a shriek, by someone who wasn’t enamored of her. “My _dress_!”

It was a sight, to say the least. What had started out the evening as a prime example of the dressmaker’s art was now little better than rags clinging to her in shreds. The layered skirt hung in tattered garlands from her hips and the top was peeling away from her right shoulder in a manner that threatened imminent disaster.

“Oh! If you only knew what I went through to get this dress,” she said plaintively. “And it wasn’t cheap, either.”

Talin looked her up and down appreciatively. “Look at the bright side; it now shows off your legs to great effect.”

She gave him a disbelieving look, then slowly a smile spread over her face.

“I did buy it with you in mind,” she said, posing those legs enticingly. “So if you still like it, then I have no complaints. And truly, what we did here tonight is worth the sacrifice. All right—I believe we were looking at our gifts?”

They went to the stone coffer and peered inside. Three of the bundles were sizable purses that clinked promisingly when lifted. There was an assortment of good quality potions and a couple of rings that might prove to be magic. An Imperial seal. And, at the bottom, a long, thin bundle of oilcloth that fell open to reveal a very fine adamantium sword.

Talin drew it out, examining the craftsmanship carefully. It was solidly made, with a good balance. He offered it to Khalila with a teasing grin. “What do you think? Will you accept a charitable gift from a dead bard?”

She reached out and laid her hand over his on the hilt. The moment she did, golden runes came to life, running down the length of the blade, spelling out _Harmony_ in ancient letters.

“Oh! It’s magic!” she exclaimed. “Then, won’t you keep it? It’s no Chrysamere, but I’d like to give you _something_ in its place.”

But Talin shook his head. “This is a one-handed weapon. I favor the two-handed variety. You have it.”

Surprisingly, she blushed deeply as he pushed it into her hand.

“W-well, then, thanks—thank you,” she stammered. She surveyed the room in the manner of someone looking for a diversion. “Look, there’s an archway opposite the door we came in. It must be the way out.”

“After you,” he said, sweeping a gallant hand before him.

She walked to it quickly, paused and carefully surveyed every surface before stepping through. Nothing untoward happened as Talin joined her. They found themselves in a small alcove at the bottom of a staircase that rose up in a long, gradual spiral around the outside of the treasury’s walls. There were more of the magic torchieres here, thankfully back to an ordinary yellow light, and nothing that smacked of danger. With a slight shrug, Khalila started up them.

The stairs went up for a long way but at a very easy pitch, and they arrived safely at the top, where there was another arch. But rather than framing a doorway or a door, it was solid. Two torches mounted on either side clearly lit up words engraved in its surface.

_**Each alone, minor and major** _

_**Comes together, standing as one** _

_**Tensions all resolve their quaver** _

_**Harmony builds from every tone** _

 

Talin’s heart dropped into his stomach. A riddle. Another cursed riddle! He’d spent a full decade puzzling out the rhymes Tharn had concocted to protect the pieces of the Staff of Chaos. By the time he’d acquired the last section, he was sick to death of them and had hoped to never see another one so long as he lived.

And he intended to live a very long time.

“Bards,” he muttered. “They should all be strung up by their gittern strings.”

Khalila looked at him, brows raised and eyes wide. “Whyever for?”

“Because they insist on leaving riddles wherever they go. I swear, if I ever find the blackguard who started this stupid tradition...” He trailed off, knowing it was an empty threat. The sentiment was true enough, though; he’d dearly love to strangle whoever it was. He looked sideways at Khalila, who was still staring at him, bemused.

“Tharn.” It was the only explanation he could give, and he punctuated it with a heavy sigh.

“But virtually every song written about you mentions how you out-riddled him, time after— _oh_.” A look of comprehension suddenly replaced the confusion. “Never mind, I do understand. It is stupid. And arrogant. But I’ll help you.”

She squeezed his hand, then gravely began to study the four lines.

“It’s not that I find it all that difficult,” he grumbled. “By the end I’d gotten pretty good at figuring them out. I just hate the feeling of being made to perform for someone else’s sick enjoyment.

“You know, we could always go back the way we came. I have a _Levitate_ spell that will get us back up the drop with no problem.” He raised his eyebrows at her in hopeful anticipation.

“I imagine Tharn had exactly that motive, but I think we can acquit these bards. This is a security measure, nothing more. As to going back…” She bit her lip, then shook her head. “It’s very likely there’s no way to trigger that trapdoor from the underside; it seems to have been a quick way to slip in here so whatever returning spy could go unnoticed. I’d really rather give this a try. I’ve already figured out something—it definitely has to do with music. Minor, major, harmony, quaver—all musical terms.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine,” he said, though with ill grace. Crossing his arms, he glared at the lines of verse, his mind falling back into old patterns of constructing sense out of double meanings.

“Okay, we have separate pieces coming together to make a unit of some kind. Whatever it is relieves tension and builds harmony... oh.”

“Notes…” Khalila said hesitantly. As he glanced at her, he realized she was flushed, even more so than she’d been downstairs, and she stared at the riddle with more intensity than it seemed to merit. “Chords?”

Neither guess got a response from the portal.

“Close,” he said. “A chord.”

In response, the stone blocking the archway melted away like mist. He felt no thrill of victory at the knowledge. Just a weariness from reliving too many memories of his most desperate quest, and an aching need to be free of this place. Khalila marched through the doorway blindly, stopping just inside the next room to stare at the floor. Talin followed her, scanning this new location for any signs of danger.

It was another round room, the same size and shape as the treasury below. On the east and west sides, there were four long windows looking out over Camlorn. The sky outside was partially obscured by clouds, but there was enough light to see that this room was furnished as a great hall. There was a long table with benches under each set of windows, and the north end held a fireplace and a grouping of chairs and couches, while the south end held a perfectly ordinary door. They had come out from the wall between the fireplace and the eastern windows. While the room seemed abandoned and slightly dusty, it was more like a house in storage than anything in a dungeon. Nothing immediately threatened them.

“I’m sorry,” Khalila said in a low voice, looking anywhere but at him. “I was being stupid. It’s just—I’m somewhat claustrophobic. I can handle larger tunnels and caves—as long as I don’t think too hard about what’s overhead—but the thought of being shoved up that tiny chute, with no sure way out the other end…” She shivered and rubbed her arms.

He blinked in surprise. Why should she be upset and apologizing? But then realization rushed in and he pressed his teeth together in chagrin. Crossing the room in two quick strides, he wrapped her in a reassuring hug.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “Just grumpy. But it has nothing to do with you, I promise. I was... remembering things I’d just as soon forget.”

She finally raised her dark eyes to meet his, an uncharacteristic hesitancy in them. “I wish I knew what I could do to be more of a help you.” She was silent for several moments, studying his face. “You bear so much, all by yourself…”

He smiled down at her, rubbing her back. “Everyone has painful memories; I’m no exception to that. But I’m not made lame by them, so there’s no need to worry. I can’t change the weight of what I went through, nor would I if I could. Those years changed me, and for the better, I assure you.” His smile grew wry. “Believe me, you would not have liked the lad I was before hardship had her way with me.”

“You are _anything_ but lame,” she said with great earnestness, her hands gripping his shirtfront tightly. “I don’t have any idea what you were when you were young, but I know that you saved my life and even my soul—if I had died a werewolf, I would have been in Oblivion with Hircine forever—and I can’t imagine a better man than you.”

Just then, the clouds drifted away, unveiling a replete Secunda. Silver moonlight washed over them and Khalila’s eyes grew wide. Slowly, she turned and took a few steps away from Talin, entranced by it. She raised her arms at her sides, looked down at herself, then up at the sky again. And gave a long, low laugh of sheer delight. Then she began to spin in place, slowly at first but gaining speed as her joy increased.

“I truly am free!” she cried, throwing her arms over her head. With a bound, she was in his arms, her own encircling his neck. “All thanks to you!”

Her joy was infectious, and he found himself laughing as he lifted her off her feet. Though he’d never doubted it, her acceptance of the fact was cause enough for celebration. Setting her on her feet again, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“So now you are sure, Khalila al-Sharon, what will you do?”

“I believe I’ll start with _this_ ,” she purred, and kissed him like she’d never kissed him before. It was full of fire and hunger, and one of her legs slid up to wrap around his hip. Talin’s mind emptied of all thought as instinct took over and he bent her backwards.

 

Secunda was sailing among silvered clouds high overhead by the time Khalila and Talin headed back to the inn. The city was growing dark and cool, starred only by the occasional lantern. They walked slowly, arms wrapped around to hold each other close. Khalila felt as though she was floating. Experience had led her to keep her expectations about a first time realistic; people were awkward, even clumsy, when they were first learning to please each other, and the outcome no more than pleasant. Or so she had thought. Making love to Talin had been altogether different. Magical. Intoxicating.

A small group of late revelers passed them and they drew a few goggle-eyed stares. They must have been a strange sight. Khalila’s prized crimson gown was a tattered wreck. It had finally taken just a little too much stress upon being removed so… urgently, and the bodice was completely rent. So she wore over it a slightly dusty hundred-year-old teal doublet, discovered in a cabinet in the bard’s hall. And she carried a naked sword in her free hand. Talin had come through in considerably better shape, but his clothing was both wrinkled and stained and he had the gittern in _his_ free hand. An odd-looking couple, indeed!

The stares made her laugh, but also made her realize that they were shortly going to be back in the everyday world. Perhaps it was time to come down from the clouds. To start the process, she decided to return to verbal communication, and tilted her head back to look up into Talin’s handsome face.

“I want to thank you,” she said, smiling shyly. “You’ve given me my first _good_ memory of a full Secunda tonight. I hope it’s followed by many more to come.”

Talin’s answering grin was roguish and his hand tightened where it rested on her hip. “I think I can oblige my lady on that score. You do realize, though, that we’re going to owe Tinzjet an apology? We never did bring him his gittern.”

Khalila gurgled with laughter. “I meant good memories in general, not that particular kind! Though I’ve certainly no objection to making more of _those_ , either,” she added with a grin of her own. “As to Tinzjet—yes. I was thinking we’d need to be up betimes in the morning to go find him and explain what happened. Also, to return his key; I imagine he will be interested to know it opens the bard’s hall as well as the way house. As to the lair underneath—do you think we should tell the bards about it, or the crown?”

“The property belongs to the bards. We should tell them, and then they can decide if they want to inform the crown about it or not.”

“Well, perhaps it does. They don’t seem to be aware of it, if so.” She frowned thoughtfully. “It’s the whole spy ring aspect that makes me wonder if the Queen wouldn’t be the proper person to tell. Then again, I can’t imagine how all of those bards doing intelligence work could disappear at once like that without the crown being aware of it. Do you think it’s a state secret that was simply allowed to be lost?”

Talin shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but I wouldn’t be surprised. High Rock’s rulers have a long history of devious political machinations. I doubt they’d want something like this to get out. Even if the bards do end up telling Her Majesty, it’s unlikely the information will go beyond that. Then again, she may just decide it’s a good idea to start the ring up again. Who knows?”

“I suppose it’s not really up to us to meddle in local politics, is it? I just can’t help but think of the repercussions of these sorts of things when I get involved with them.” She gave a small sigh, then her jaw tightened. “One thing I _will_ insist on, though, is that those poor bards are given a proper burial. Or whatever their customs are. They were loyal servants to their ruler, and don’t deserve the fate that befell them. Especially Vincentian; after sharing his memories, I know what a good man he was, and a hero even after life.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” The last word was swallowed in a huge yawn. “In the morning.”

She stifled a sympathetic yawn of her own. “Oh, yes! I am _so_ ready for some sleep. What a day this has been! The traveling, the shopping, the whole thing with the dress, and a festival would have made for a full schedule alone. Add to that a dungeon crawl and—afterwards…” A smirk forced its way to her lips at the memory. “This has been a crazy, _crazy_ day!”

Talin laughed, a deep rumble that came from his chest. “I’ve had crazier, but few that ended so delightfully. Right now I just want to get back to the inn, curl up in bed with you and get some sleep.”

Khalila felt her face flush yet again and thought with chagrin that she didn’t normally blush this much in the space of a year. The effect this man had on her! At least this one was from happiness.

“Then—then you do want me to stay with you?” she asked, trying and failing to sound composed.

His steps slowed, and a small line appeared between his brows as he gazed down at her. “Well, of course. Don’t you want to?”

“Oh, yes!” she cried, dropping the sword so she could put both arms around him and kiss him fervently. (In the back of her mind her sword master stared icily at her, but at that particular moment, she didn’t care at all.)

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!” said a different voice, and Ro strolled around the corner of the building that separated them from the _Crossed Keys_. “You two are back late!”

Talin pulled away from the kiss with an air of reluctance, shooting his sister a look of ingratitude at the interruption. “I wasn’t aware we had a curfew,” he jibed.

Ro’s mischievous smile was unaffected. “Whatever would Mom and Dad say?”

Talin considered Khalila for a moment, then shrugged. “‘Congratulations?’”

Deeming it prudent to stay out of the brother-sister banter, she picked up Harmony and wiped the dust from it. Ro’s eyes grew large at the sight of it, and bigger yet when she took in Khalila’s appearance.

“Zenithar’s beard!” she gasped. “What happened to you? To your _dress_?” Her eyes landed on Talin, narrowing into a glare. “Just what have you been up to, big brother?”

Talin smiled wolfishly. “I can’t take all the credit,” he said. “The skirt was already in bad shape before I got there.”

“Do you have any idea what we went through to get that dress?” She folded her arms and stared at him as if expecting a proper explanation for the ruin.

“No, but I know what I did to get through that dress.” Talin was clearly enjoying himself, and not the least repentant for his hand in the damage.

With great difficulty, Khalila choked down the laughter threatening to overwhelm her. After a moment, she casually brought the sword to rest on her shoulder and managed an offhand tone as she added, “That’s true enough. The ghosts had pretty much ruined it before Talin got to it.”

Now Ro’s glare was full on her.

_“What ghosts??”_

Khalila broke down laughing, unable to even try to answer her.

Talin grasped Ro by the shoulders and gently gave her an affectionate shake. “It’s a long story, and we’re both tired. Tomorrow,” he promised.

Ro’s bottom lip protruded and her eyes held rebellion, but in the end she huffed her resignation. “Okay, fine, but I expect a full report over breakfast.”

“Done,” Talin said. He held out a hand to Khalila. “Coming?”

She took his hand firmly. “Count on it, my dear.”


End file.
